Honey, I'm Dead
by Beatrice Finn
Summary: Beatrice Finn is a lame girl from Georgia. A letter from her mom sends her packing and away to Oregon. She hears strange noises, has strange dreams and meets strange people. It all suddenly adds up and Beatrice realizes she is somthing else.
1. Chapter 1

Honey, I'm

Dead

BeatriceFinn Productions™

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical

Events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other

Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the

Author's imagination and any resemblance to actual events

Or locales or a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BEATRICEFINN PRODUCTIONS™

_Honey, I'm Dead_ copyright © 2010 by Ashleejane Templin

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

in whole or in part in any form.

BEATRICEFINN PRODUCTIONS™ is a registered trademark.

HONEY, I'M DEAD is a trademark of Beatrice Finn.

Designed by Beatrice Finn

The text of this book was set in Cambria.

Manufactured in the United States of America

The BeatriceFinn productions edition April 2010

Honey, I'm

Dead

_For the ones_

_I love._

Prologue

It didn't look like a letter. From the outside it was just something in the mail, something to open. A bill, a relative sending a kooky card, a dentist's check-up reminder. I didn't even look at the return address or who it was for. I just slipped my finger under the flap at the top of the envelope, struggled with the sticky tape between the flaps and yanked the paper out. It wasn't until I read the first words that I recognized the slightly sloppy writing.

Even as I realize what I've opened I realized I tripped myself up. I made a mistake. I _always_ know how people are feeling just from the look on their faces or their body language. The way a human moves can speak to me like pure untainted English. No person is a closed book.

Maybe I should be a psychologist, that's what people that I associate with say. The few people I associate with.

I can't seem to get my niche in high school. Every school year is the same except, wait, I'm going to be a Junior this time. The cacophony of people on the first day always makes me sick. Jock, Prep, Goth, the gears of my mind are going full speed. Everyone else's minds run all the other faces they spot through their minds, know her, know him, new guy, hate her. I can practically see the thoughts flicker across their faces when their minds process me. Dislike, annoyance, indifference and even hatred.

The things that make me different from these people make them hate me. I'm smart, I use my head. I don't slack like every other 'cool' kid. I wear clothes that I can swim in and not only that but clothes that are old. Vintage. The colors are faded, the edges frayed and worn but I love them. And I have long since stopped caring what others think.

I don't care that they care that I don't 'fit in' with any group. But it's pointless. They separate themselves into groups depending on how they dress and act. Prep; jock; nerd; goth; Emo.

Which do I fit into? None of the above. So I'm an outcast, an outcast who can read every one of these types of people like the newspaper on a Sunday morning.

As I read the letter, sitting on my bed in the empty house I think about these things. For once in my life I didn't see something coming. I realize that, for once in my life, something wasn't what it seemed.


	2. Chapter 2

Decision Friday, July 17.

Beatrice,  
I know you are struggling with your dad s remarriage. I guess I haven t ever really met Debbie, I m sure she s nice, but I ve heard some rotten things about her from a very reliable source. Even though we haven t seen each other in a while I know that no one would want to be in your situation. You can come to Oregon anytime, to stay, and I mean anytime. I have the tickets on speed dial! Please consider coming to Oregon. If you changed your mind after you flew over you could always go back to Georgia. Let me know as soon as you make some sort of a decision. Love you, Jennie

I stared at the words my mother had hand written and sent to me by hand. It was a touching gesture. She didn t sign her name Mom because she thought our relationship was too strained to use that word. This made me sad. I wish it wasn t like that.

I was tempted to wave the letter in Debbie s face, I m sure she would love to try to convince me with her sneering voice to go. Move because it would make everything easier for Calvin. Of course, it would be blackmail by playing the Calvin card but she is evil. With Debbie, the possibilities are endless. I thought better of letting someone see the letter so soon, let alone Debbie. She was enough to handle without having ammo to launch at me. This would defiantly send a new shower of annoying comments my way. I m sure she s nice , I really do hope my mother gets to meet Debbie one day.

She s defiantly an eyeful, all five foot eleven inches of Debbie. Her favorite brand is Prada. I m not even sure if I can say it right. Every few weeks Debbie goes to some high-end beauty salon and has some kind of facial-manicure-pedicure trio crap done to her appendages. She gets every kind of make-up and I wouldn t be surprised if she wore every bottle and tube she owned. She is the very type of woman I hate. Sure, it s harsh, but Debbie is a self-absorbed walking Barbie doll. The connection I have to this woman? After two months of ignoring the goo-goo eyes my dad made at her I thought it would be over. No. Five months later, a lot of patience and hopeful wishing on my part, and Debbie and my father are married. Hurray.

As of late, it s been a cat fight. Debbie throws an insulting comment my way. I throw one back. Why don t you wear the pink shirt I got you for your birthday? She asks me one morning. Instead I had chosen a baggy red t-shirt that had bugs bunny on it, one of my favorites. It wasn t her favorite; she eyed my choice of wardrobe with disapproval. The one she would have chosen was pink and frilly. Because, I said slowly. I don t like anything you buy me. I said in a tone with an air of I Don t Care . I added a lot of emphasis when I said you.

Despite Debbie I had to debate this in my head. If I did move to Oregon with my mom Oregon, I said, a little disbelieving. I tested out how the words felt in my mouth. It felt kind of nice, but at the same time nerve-racking. I haven t seen my mom in seven years. It would be scary to see her now but interesting.

That sent off a whole new set of emotions, most of them confused and lonely. When I was five my mother and father got a divorce. They had been married for only a year before they decided to bring little me into the world. I can never understand why Calvin got me. I suppose he must have wanted me more. Maybe my mother wasn t exactly ready to have daily rendezvous avec moi, five years old, and my father was. I don t know. I don t ask my father or my mother, when I do call. It s a very sensitive subject and I sense that there must have been a lot of tears shed over the issue.

The story I have put together over the years of scrupulous gathering of tiny pieces of information is this: Mother was acting distant. She was wrapped up in work and she wasn t spending much time with me. I don t know what happened then but they had some sort of argument. Words were said. Divorce was mentioned, and they decided to split up for a while than later get back together and see if they could make the marriage work again. They knew their parents would be devastated. Well, my dad s mom and my mom s mom would be devastated. Both grandpas were gone at that time. Eventually they found out that it wouldn t work and filed for divorce soon after.

Grandma Lola died, sending my dad into spiraling depression. He put on a strong face for me but even when I was little I could see through his masks. Than comes the part I m most ill informed on. They had another argument over who should get me. Mom had to work a lot but she still loved me. Dad s job had less time on the field and he made more money. He was equipped to raise a child, Mom wasn t. She didn t throw a fit. At least that I know of. This is why I have such troubled thoughts over my Mother. Neither she, nor my father has ever spoken about that day when they fought over me, five year old me. I have no idea what was said. It probably sounds stupid but it feels like I should know. It feels like I should know what my mother and father were thinking and feeling that day. This has bugged me my whole life, plagued my thoughts. Does mom still care? Is asking stupid questions going to help anything?

There are too many questions to have answered and the answers are impossible to acquire. Maybe one day the answers will come to me but for now I wash myself over with a false sense of security at the thought of the things that remained unspoken. My father encourages my relationship with her to an extent. He doesn t want me to get to close most likely because I might get hurt. But then again, he wants me to get to know her better because after all, she is my mother. And Calvin isn t very good at the girly stuff. There s still Debbie, my dad would say. She is really good at girl stuff! He would exclaim after a long winded talk about how I don t have the right kind of woman figure in my life. Which he thinks will help what; my inability to find a boy friend; my sense of style over the top ordinary; maybe my lack of make-up? None of these things matter and the replacement, Debbie, is a witch. I won t let her magic spells and potions be forced upon me.

I sighed and got up from my bed to head to the kitchen. Lunchtime. As I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I thought about Oregon. I ve been there a few times. Every time I went there I went to Grandma s house and ate popsicles. We would explore the woods behind her house and find little hidden treasures buried deep in the pines and ferns. I remember it all too clearly. It would be fun to go there again even though Grandma Ursula died when I was nine. That s why I stopped visiting. Plus, the cost of plane tickets would have caused us all to go broke. I m just not sure. Moving there would defiantly make Debbie happy, but wouldn t it make my dad feel worthless?

Speak, or think, of the devil; here comes dad in his supped up Dodge Ram. It wouldn t be complete without cab extension, the largest wheels possible, removable hard top bed cover and all the other flashy add-ons. He loves his truck, Debbie doesn t, which makes me love the truck all that much more.

I could hear the big tires crunching on the long gravel driveway that led to our little green-painted home and I smiled. Calvin was home early. I heard the truck door slam, but I wasn t expecting a second truck door to slam. The smile was off my face in an instant; Debbie usually didn t ride in dad s truck. She has a canary yellow convertible that she drives while wearing her expensive clothes and wearing her expensive make-up. It wasn t at home. Maybe she crashed it!

A little exited, I got up and went to the front door to let them in. Hey, Dad, The smile came back as realized it wasn t Debbie who was riding in dad s truck. It was Gary Watson.

Gary Watson is my dad s long time best friend, strait out of college. He did a little wave and said, Hey, Triss. Only my closest friends could call me by my nickname, Triss. It could be spelled T-R-I-C-E but people would read it and It would sound like rice with a T in front.

I waved back and my dad smiled at me. Gary and I are gunna go paintballing for a few hours, my dad hinted. Oh, I realized who would be coming home in a few more short hours. Debbie gunna be home soon? I asked, trying to hide my crestfallen attitude. Yup, he looked apologetic.

I tried not to think about Debbie and shook my head to clear the way for more important matters. I got a letter from mom. Oh, really? We weren t expecting anything from my mom. Yea, but we ll talk about it later. Go have a good time. I told him and waved my hand as if to push that topic to the corner where we would later grab it back out. He told me they were going to leave in a few minutes; he said he needed to get some things.

I went down the narrow hall to my room to brood over spending the night with Debbie. My dad must have been let off work early so he could go with Gary. Gary would have to have time off, too. Gary and Calvin had the same job at the construction building company called Terry and Sons. They went to collage to be contractors and they ended up together in the same company, with the same job. My dad was extremely lucky to have his job with his best friend.

Sitting on the twin bed I picked up the letter mom sent. Right then and there I decided that I would make up my mind whether or not to move before I told Calvin what the letter said. This gives me till tomorrow morning to make my decision, and a few hours without Debbie before that. Back to brooding Moving to Oregon would make two and a half people happy, Debbie, my mom, and half of me. One half of me would be happy to be out of Debbie s vicinity. The other half, however, would not be happy because my dad wouldn t be happy. I could visit dad! A tiny voice said in my head. He wouldn t be happy when you were gone for those long periods of time in between visits, the other voice said just a little more sternly. No. He would be fine without you. He could actually live his life without worrying about Debbie and me getting along. The first voice was just as stern as the second.

I was feeling pathetic with all my broody thoughts so I put that thought away to ponder later; I started to pick up my room. I put all the clothes in the hamper and took that to the washing machine. I made my bed then moved to the small bathroom connected to my room. I put my hairbrush and all my other hair accessories in the correct places. I hung up the towel and straightened out the bath rug. I decided to do some dishes.

As I washed the few dishes I thought about how horrible the night would be with Calvin out. No doubt Debbie would be extra mean because he wouldn t be here. I suppose the reason Debbie doesn t like me so much is because she likes make-up and expensive stuff, and I don t. I like old-fashion, vintage clothing. Nothing those other seventeen year olds are usually wearing. Debbie wants me to be a Barbie like her and sometimes, most of the time, like my fellow seventeen year olds. I refuse. I was defiantly back on the path of broody and pathetic and the distractions had worked up until now but I had to concentrate on what was coming up the walkway.

Think of the devil again, almost literally. I giggled a little. Debbie was walking up the walkway carrying two full-looking shopping bags and some expensive brand of purse. She held out her arms in front of her in a very girly way.

She stood in front of the door for a moment, then, her knees bending in and an awkward position because of the high heels and her elbows turned the wrong way as she tried to turn the doorknob, she tried to open the door. The resulting picture was very comical. I giggled again. I didn t bother to help.

I tried to act indifferent as she came in and put her bags on the dining room table but I was holding in the laughter at her comical entrance and my little inward devil joke.  
Where s Cal? she huffed. She ignored my strain to keep the giggles from exploding.

He must not have told you that he was going paintballing with Gary, I said with difficulty.

She glared at me from underneath her coat of mascara. Then swiped her bags off the table and stalked off to grumble in her room. Apparently she was just as miffed to be spending the evening with me as I was with her! I let the giggles explode because I knew she could still hear me.

It was already four. I put the clothes in the dryer and headed back to my room.

I ve spent the evening with Debbie before but this time she was hoping for Calvin to be home. She is just so, so childish. That s the perfect word, childish. The attraction between them is a mystery to me. I wanted a decision, now. I made one at 4:15 pm on a Friday evening in July, to move to Oregon with my mother . . .

I was in grandma s house, with the old curtains and furniture. My mom was there. She looked more beautiful than I had imagined her. Her long brown hair flowing around her like there was a perfect little breeze blowing. Her soft features were disturbed. She looked positively sad. It s a dream! Little Voice piped up. I pushed it away subconsciously. What s the matter? I asked her. Grandma s dead, Triss. She s gone, and she sank to her knees in agony and despair.

But, Mom. She has been dead for eight years. You can t have just found out! I was confused by her actions. Little Voice told me not to worry about her. I ignored the voice, I worried about her anyway. Was either of us going crazy? Were both of us going crazy? I walked forward a few steps and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She looked up at me suddenly and the expression on her face made me step back. She looked downright furious. She s dead. And the house... She breathed. So I looked around. The house was ransacked!  
What the! No! I was so shocked.

Yes. It s entirely your fault Beatrice. She was so angry tears began to spill off her face.

NO! No, no, no! My voice was getting quieter and quieter and she was disappearing. The little voice told me it was okay. It was just a dream. I couldn t listen to it. The house was destroyed, where all my fun and young childhood dreams had come true. I loved the house and now it was gone. I wish I had had a proper goodbye. . . .

Saturday, July 18.

Someone was telling me everything was going to be okay; to wake up. That was silly. I was already awake. The house was destroyed and I was just there. It wouldn t be okay. I realized it was dark.

I said, No, again.

Someone repeated that it would be okay. WAKE UP, BEATRICE! the voice screamed. It was Calvin. Why did he sound so urgent? Dad, I m okay. I said, my voice a little slurred.

I opened my eyes, I guess they were closed. His face was above mine. He was holding my shoulders; he must have been shaking them. He said, You ve been screaming! I have? My voice was shaky and I worked to get it steady.

Yea, Triss. You were saying, no and screaming over and over. I thought someone was murdering you!

It was just a dream, Dad. I said.

What was it about? he asked, he sounded miffed.

Dad, go back to bed. I m fine, I muttered.

I want to know what it was about! He really was angry, no, I misinterpreted it, concerned.

Really, Dad, I can t remember. Go back to bed. That wasn t the truth. It was a nightmare that s all I know, I winced, suddenly the embarrassment hit me. I never had nightmares; my tired voice was hopefully hiding the unsure lie in my voice.

He bought it. All right then. Are you sure? I could tell that he really did want to go back to bed and he was trying to hide this.

Thanks, but no thanks. Go back to bed, I urged.

He sauntered off and I heard the door click. I turned off the bedside table lamp. What was in my dream? I was afraid maybe the thing with mom wasn t such a great idea. I vaguely thought what Debbie would say about this. I argued with the little voice for who knows how long. I drifted off to sleep in the early morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Goodbye Saturday, July 18.

I stared at my nails while Calvin read the letter. He was just silent. I wish someone could or would say something to break it.

Finally he said, Triss. I glanced up at him and he looked confused. I wouldn t show him the letter with such reluctance unless I knew he would be uncomfortable about it. If I didn t want to move to my mom s I would have given him the letter without reluctance and as soon as he read it I would say that I was staying. Do you want this? he asked, incredulous.

After a pause I looked into his eyes and said, Yes. He looked appalled. I have never expressed an interest in even visiting my mother for seven years. We kind of just slipped out of visits. It cost a lot of money anyway.

I think if she is willing to try, I am, I said trying to keep my voice steady.

It worked; Calvin looked at me and said in an unsure voice, Alright. I breathed. I had no idea that I hadn t been. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. I guess, call her and let her know the news, he sounded as though something just happened and it hadn t hit him yet. I was spot on.

He walked out of the kitchen as if in a daze. I knew he d be okay. He always would be. He was just shocked at the suddenness of it all. So was I.

I wouldn t even have ever thought about visiting my Mom. I had no idea why I was pushing myself to this new extreme. I was taking a huge risk not knowing the extent of things in Oregon. I couldn t even tell myself why I was doing this. Perhaps I thought it would be a wonderful life away from Debbie. Maybe I yearned to see my childhood dream home. A fresh new start at a new school was always nice. All of these reasons are why I was taking a huge jump into the pool of uncertainty.

I fought with the little voice in my head for hours last night; staying up until the early hours of the morning. The only thing keeping me awake was the fact that I had so much to think about. The only thing that got me to sleep was exhaustion. When I did fall asleep I had another dream that I can t remember, but I remember that this dream was a better version of the previous nightmare. The small voice kept my brain in check as I slept; never letting in those bad thoughts I had about my Mother in. I feel like I ve been in a train wreck. The only thing is can my dad see that I feel like I ve been in a train wreck? Does he also have the same ability I do to see through peoples pretenses?

It s nothing magical, I think; I can just read body language and eyes very well. I read my dad s emotions when he went through his depression. I can tell when my dad has something that he wants to say and he knows it will be just a little uncomfortable.

For this, I thank my strange ability. I can tell when he wants to tell me something I don t want to necessarily hear, and I can prepare myself for it.

I had to call my mom. I got up and went to the phone and found the small address book that we keep all of our important phone numbers in. We haven t called my mom in over a year. That I know of. I found her number and hoped that I would get her answering machine. What if it was a cell phone and she answers? What if she doesn t answer? Either way it s nerve-wracking so I might as well get it over with. I dialed her number with trembling fingers and sat at the bar.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Each ring felt like was an hour long.

It rang five more times and a voice said, Hello? I couldn t say a word. Hello?! the voice was more urgent this time. Before I could give them a chance to hang up I said, Hi, sorry I, I couldn t finish. Who is this? Is this a prank call? No. I finally breathed. I am looking for Jennie. I hoped I didn t sound like I was anxious. This is her, answered the voice, my Mom s voice. I was glad Calvin wasn t here to witness this he might change his mind about letting me go.

This is Beatrice, I managed after a pause. I heard a sigh on the other end.

I ve been waiting for your call, she proclaimed.

I know I got your letter yesterday. I have a an answer for you. This was getting easier and easier by the second. This is a good sign.

Well, um. I would love to know what that answer is, Hun. She sounded lovely. She sounded like I imagined my mother to sound. I had forgotten what it was like to hear her.

I am choosing to, I heard an intake of breath from the other side, Move in with you. The breath was let out slowly. I let mine out, too. Somehow, I keep holding my breath without realizing it.

How exiting! She exclaimed. Like I said, tickets on speed dial! She sounded like a little kid with a new toy. I need a week to get all my stuff packed up, you know, I told her. Oh, yes. Yes, of course, she now sounded eager. I m so excited! I get to finally meet you after all of these years.

Seventeen, I can t believe it!

I let her ramble than said, how about I call you after I get something done?

The same here, I will get back to you about tickets and luggage, ya know, the whole thing. She was starting to sound normal again. All right, then. I ll talk to you later; soon, Mom. Talk to you later, then. She said and hung up.

I put the phone on the hook and Calvin walked in.

What did she say? he asked, leaning against the door jamb.

She s exited. She says she ll call when things are ready and I ll call when my things are ready.

Okay; I will get you some boxes from work, he sounded tired.

Kay, Dad. Thanks. Hey kid, no problem. I ve got to get to work; that could be a problem if I don t get moving! He was back to his old self in a flash.  
Debbie was already gone, off to her job at Mary Kay, which was a very good thing. I didn t want Debbie to be in the middle of this. She would eventually have to know though. That will be a day to remember.

I have to tell the few friends that I have that I will be leaving soon. I don t think they will be dreadfully sad I m leaving. They might actually be a little bit happy. They, of course, would try to hide their happiness but I will see right through it like always. Being different has always had a part in getting friends. The past few years it s been easier but I still don t have devoted friends; the ones who stay with you through thick and thin. Nope, the friends I have will be happy for me to leave. I didn t care though. As long as I had Calvin; and in a few weeks it would my Mom taking his place.

I made a plan of action. When school was in session I had one friend per class, plus a few others in lunch. That made a short list of ten people, I wasn t sure if they even knew each other. I wrote all the people down. I looked at the names I scrawled on a piece of notebook paper with a sudden sadness, time to call them.

First is my best friend, Jamie Ellison. She is my partner in math and we get along just great. We ve had a sleepover or two in the past year. She is the only one I expect to be remotely sad I m leaving.

I was right about that. She said we d have to keep in touch while I was away. She wished me good luck and rambled about how she would miss me. My red lights weren t flashing, which meant she was sincere. I almost cried as I said goodbye and made all the promises I could think of. I would be missing her.

I liked Jamie a lot. She had a certain way about her that made me like her more than all my other friends. I was jealous of her long blond hair and she was really pretty. She didn t have the same style as all the other teens, like me. She was just, likeable. I really would miss her.

When I called Tally, my second best friend and partner in social studies, I didn t expect quite as much enthusiasm as Jamie has shown. Boy, I was in for a surprise. She was crying all over the place as I told her I would be leaving. She was as sincere as Jamie had been! I silently cursed my ability to gauge my status with friends.

Tally wasn t my favorite person in the world. She wore just a little too much make-up. She didn t wear as much as Debbie but still a lot of it. She had her own sense of style, too. But it was fashionable which made her more popular than me. She had black hair that she often wore in a ponytail trailing down her back. She was too talkative. I myself don t have much to say but Tally always has something to say.

When I called Tommy I was expecting his reaction. He wasn t happy that I would be leaving, but he wasn t sad I was leaving. He masked his wrong motions but, inevitably, I saw through them. I like Tommy for his smarts. I could never like a boy like him though. He was tall and gangly. He had short black hair that he never smoothed down. He wore glasses and he was often called pizza face.

I had heard rumors that Tommy thought I liked him and he avoided touching me or walking next to me in the hall. I tried to explain to him that the rumors weren t true but I don t think he fully believed it. It went on like that for the next half hour or so. When I called Maria she said she was sorry but she really had to go; right after she explained that she was disappointed that I had to leave. Friends five through ten just sat on the other line without much emotion. At least none of them were happy that I was leaving.

That night Calvin came home with ten empty, folded, cardboard boxes. I began to put together some of the brown folds.

Ya know, dad. I began. You didn t have to get ten boxes.

I know, but having too many is better than having too little, he said with a smile. He was leaning in the door jamb, something he usually did when he was chatting with me. I ll leave you to start packing, he said and he turned and strode out the door way without another word.

I packed all my books in one box, all my picture frames and small decorations in another. I wrapped the picture frames and other glass or breakable delicates in newspaper that Calvin brought in for me. I put everything else that I wouldn t need in another box; I filled that one and moved to another. I packed my winter clothes in a box; I wouldn t need those until summer was over. I left out just my summer clothes; a small collection of Tank tops, worded t-shirts, shorts, cut off jeans, and capris and I couldn t forget my toiletries.

My room looked really bare; the only things left that were showing were a few posters and my lavender bedspread. I would defiantly ask mom if I could take that. When I went to the living room to find that Debbie and Calvin were in bed, I looked at the clock. It was nine PM. I gasped and ran back into my room to put my pajamas on and brush my teeth. I needed the sleep, bad.

It was then I realized I was exhausted. The combination of the long day and lack of sleep from the night before was taking a toll on me. I crawled into bed to get to sleep; expecting a wave of thoughts to rush in but I drifted to sleep and stayed that way. I slept like a rock.


	4. Chapter 4

Decision

Friday, July 17.

Beatrice,

I know you are struggling with your dad's remarriage. I guess I haven't ever really met Debbie, I'm sure she's nice, but I've heard some rotten things about her from a very reliable source. Even though we haven't seen each other in a while I know that no one would want to be in your situation. You can come to Oregon anytime, to stay, and I mean anytime. I have the tickets on speed dial! Please consider coming to Oregon. If you changed your mind after you flew over you could always go back to Georgia. Let me know as soon as you make some sort of a decision.

Love you,

Jennie

I stared at the words my mother had hand written and sent to me by hand. It was a touching gesture. She didn't sign her name 'Mom' because she thought our relationship was too strained to use that word. This made me sad. I wish it wasn't like that.

I was tempted to wave the letter in Debbie's face, I'm sure she would love to try to convince me with her sneering voice to go. Move because it would make everything easier for Calvin. Of course, it would be blackmail by playing the Calvin card but she _is_ evil. With Debbie, the possibilities are endless. I thought better of letting someone see the letter so soon, let alone Debbie. She was enough to handle without having ammo to launch at me. This would defiantly send a new shower of annoying comments my way.

'_I'm sure she's nice'_, I _really_ do hope my mother gets to meet Debbie one day.

She's defiantly an eyeful, all five foot eleven inches of Debbie. Her favorite brand is Prada. I'm not even sure if I can say it right. Every few weeks Debbie goes to some high-end beauty salon and has some kind of facial-manicure-pedicure trio crap done to her appendages. She gets every kind of make-up and I wouldn't be surprised if she wore _every_ bottle and tube she owned. She is the very type of woman I hate. Sure, it's harsh, but Debbie is a self-absorbed walking Barbie doll.

The connection I have to this woman? After two months of ignoring the goo-goo eyes my dad made at her I thought it would be over. No. Five months later, a lot of patience and hopeful wishing on my part, and Debbie and my father are married. _Hurray_.

As of late, it's been a cat fight. Debbie throws an insulting comment my way. I throw one back.

"Why don't you wear the pink shirt I got you for your birthday?" She asks me one morning.

Instead I had chosen a baggy red t-shirt that had bugs bunny on it, one of my favorites. It wasn't her favorite; she eyed my choice of wardrobe with disapproval. The one she would have chosen was pink and frilly.

"Because," I said slowly. "I don't like anything _you_ buy me." I said in a tone with an air of 'I Don't Care'. I added a lot of emphasis when I said you.

Despite Debbie I had to debate this in my head. If I did move to Oregon with my mom…

"Oregon," I said, a little disbelieving. I tested out how the words felt in my mouth. It felt kind of nice, but at the same time nerve-racking. I haven't seen my mom in seven years. It would be scary to see her now but–interesting.

That sent off a whole new set of emotions, most of them confused and lonely. When I was five my mother and father got a divorce. They had been married for only a year before they decided to bring little me into the world. I can never understand why Calvin got me. I suppose he must have wanted me more. Maybe my mother wasn't exactly ready to have daily rendezvous avec moi, five years old, and my father was. I don't know. I don't ask my father or my mother, when I do call. It's a very sensitive subject and I sense that there must have been a lot of tears shed over the issue.

The story I have put together over the years of scrupulous gathering of tiny pieces of information is this: Mother was acting distant. She was wrapped up in work and she wasn't spending much time with me. I don't know what happened then but they had some sort of argument. Words were said. Divorce was mentioned, and they decided to split up for a while than later get back together and see if they could make the marriage work again.

They knew their parents would be devastated. Well, my dad's mom and my mom's mom would be devastated. Both grandpas were gone at that time. Eventually they found out that it wouldn't work and filed for divorce soon after.

Grandma Lola died, sending my dad into spiraling depression. He put on a strong face for me but even when I was little I could see through his masks.

Than comes the part I'm most ill informed on. They had another argument over who should get me.Mom had to work a lot but she still loved me. Dad's job had less time on the field and he made more money. He was equipped to raise a child, Mom wasn't. She didn't throw a fit. At least that I know of.

This is why I have such troubled thoughts over my Mother. Neither she, nor my father has ever spoken about that day when they fought over me, five year old me. I have no idea what was said.

It probably sounds stupid but it feels like I should know. It feels like I should know what my mother and father were thinking and feeling that day. This has bugged me my whole life, plagued my thoughts. _Does mom still care? Is asking stupid questions going to help anything?_

There are too many questions to have answered and the answers are impossible to acquire. Maybe one day the answers will come to me but for now I wash myself over with a false sense of security at the thought of the things that remained unspoken.

My father encourages my relationship with her to an extent. He doesn't want me to get to close most likely because I might get hurt. But then again, he wants me to get to know her better because after all, she is my mother. And Calvin isn't very good at the 'girly' stuff.

"There's still Debbie," my dad would say. "She is really good at girl stuff!" He would exclaim after a long winded talk about how I don't have the right kind of 'woman figure' in my life.

Which he thinks will help what; my inability to find a boy friend; my sense of style over the top ordinary; maybe my lack of make-up? None of these things matter and the replacement, Debbie, is a witch. I won't let her magic spells and potions be forced upon me.

I sighed and got up from my bed to head to the kitchen. Lunchtime.

As I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I thought about Oregon. I've been there a few times. Every time I went there I went to Grandma's house and ate popsicles. We would explore the woods behind her house and find little hidden treasures buried deep in the pines and ferns. I remember it all too clearly.

It would be fun to go there again even though Grandma Ursula died when I was nine. That's why I stopped visiting. Plus, the cost of plane tickets would have caused us all to go broke.

I'm just not sure. Moving there would defiantly make Debbie happy, but wouldn't it make my dad feel worthless?

Speak, or think, of the devil; here comes dad in his supped up Dodge Ram. It wouldn't be complete without cab extension, the largest wheels possible, removable hard top bed cover and all the other flashy add-ons. He loves his truck, Debbie doesn't, which makes me love the truck all that much more.

I could hear the big tires crunching on the long gravel driveway that led to our little green-painted home and I smiled. Calvin was home early.

I heard the truck door slam, but I wasn't expecting a second truck door to slam. The smile was off my face in an instant; Debbie usually didn't ride in dad's truck. She has a canary yellow convertible that she drives while wearing her expensive clothes and wearing her expensive make-up. It wasn't at home. Maybe she crashed it!

A little exited, I got up and went to the front door to let them in.

"Hey, Dad," The smile came back as realized it wasn't Debbie who was riding in dad's truck. It was Gary Watson.

Gary Watson is my dad's long time best friend, strait out of college.

He did a little wave and said, "Hey, Triss."

Only my closest friends could call me by my nickname, Triss. It could be spelled T-R-I-C-E but people would read it and It would sound like rice with a 'T' in front.

I waved back and my dad smiled at me.

"Gary and I are gunna go paintballing for a few hours," my dad hinted.

"Oh," I realized who would be coming home in a few more short hours.

"Debbie gunna be home soon?"I asked, trying to hide my crestfallen attitude.

"Yup," he looked apologetic.

I tried not to think about Debbie and shook my head to clear the way for more important matters. "I got a letter from mom."

"Oh, really?" We weren't expecting anything from my mom.

"Yea, but we'll talk about it later. Go have a good time." I told him and waved my hand as if to push that topic to the corner where we would later grab it back out.

He told me they were going to leave in a few minutes; he said he needed to get some things.

I went down the narrow hall to my room to brood over spending the night with Debbie. My dad must have been let off work early so he could go with Gary. Gary would have to have time off, too. Gary and Calvin had the same job at the construction building company called Terry and Sons. They went to collage to be contractors and they ended up together in the same company, with the same job. My dad was extremely lucky to have his job with his best friend.

Sitting on the twin bed I picked up the letter mom sent. Right then and there I decided that I would make up my mind whether or not to move _before_ I told Calvin what the letter said. This gives me till tomorrow morning to make my decision, and a few hours without Debbie before that.

Back to brooding…Moving to Oregon would make two and a half people happy, Debbie, my mom, and half of me. One half of me would be happy to be out of Debbie's vicinity. The other half, however, would not be happy because my dad wouldn't be happy.

_I could visit dad!_ A tiny voice said in my head. _He wouldn't be happy when you were gone for those long periods of time in between visits_, the other voice said just a little more sternly. _No. He would be fine without you. He could actually live his life without worrying about Debbie and me getting along._ The first voice was just as stern as the second.

I was feeling pathetic with all my broody thoughts so I put that thought away to ponder later; I started to pick up my room. I put all the clothes in the hamper and took that to the washing machine. I made my bed then moved to the small bathroom connected to my room. I put my hairbrush and all my other hair accessories in the correct places. I hung up the towel and straightened out the bath rug. I decided to do some dishes.

As I washed the few dishes I thought about how horrible the night would be with Calvin out. No doubt Debbie would be extra mean because he wouldn't be here. I suppose the reason Debbie doesn't like me so much is because she likes make-up and expensive stuff, and I don't. I like old-fashion, vintage clothing. Nothing those other seventeen year olds are usually wearing. Debbie wants me to be a Barbie like her and sometimes, most of the time, like my fellow seventeen year olds. I refuse. I was defiantly back on the path of broody and pathetic and the distractions had worked up until now but I had to concentrate on what was coming up the walkway.

Think of the devil _again_, almost literally. I giggled a little. Debbie was walking up the walkway carrying two full-looking shopping bags and some expensive brand of purse. She held out her arms in front of her in a very girly way.

She stood in front of the door for a moment, then, her knees bending in and an awkward position because of the high heels and her elbows turned the wrong way as she tried to turn the doorknob, she tried to open the door. The resulting picture was very comical. I giggled again. I didn't bother to help.

I tried to act indifferent as she came in and put her bags on the dining room table but I was holding in the laughter at her comical entrance and my little inward devil joke.

"Where's Cal?" she huffed. She ignored my strain to keep the giggles from exploding.

"He must not have told you that he was going paintballing with Gary," I said with difficulty.

She glared at me from underneath her coat of mascara. Then swiped her bags off the table and stalked off to grumble in her room. Apparently she was just as miffed to be spending the evening with me as I was with her! I let the giggles explode because I knew she could still hear me.

It was already four. I put the clothes in the dryer and headed back to my room.

I've spent the evening with Debbie before but this time she was hoping for Calvin to be home. She is just so, so – childish. That's the perfect word, _childish_. The attraction between them is a mystery to me. I wanted a decision, now. I made one at 4:15 pm on a Friday evening in July, to move to Oregon with my mother

. . .

I was in grandma's house, with the old curtains and furniture. My mom was there. She looked more beautiful than I had imagined her. Her long brown hair flowing around her like there was a perfect little breeze blowing. Her soft features were disturbed. She looked positively sad. _It's a dream!_ Little Voice piped up. I pushed it away subconsciously.

"What's the matter?" I asked her.

"Grandma's dead, Triss. She's gone," and she sank to her knees in agony and despair.

"But, Mom. She has been dead for eight years. You can't have_ just_ found out!" I was confused by her actions.

Little Voice told me not to worry about her. I ignored the voice, I worried about her anyway. _Was either of us going crazy? Were both of us going crazy? _

I walked forward a few steps and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She looked up at me suddenly and the expression on her face made me step back. She looked downright furious.

"She's dead. And the house..." She breathed. So I looked around. The house was ransacked!

"What the! No!" I was so shocked.

"Yes. It's entirely your fault Beatrice." She was so angry tears began to spill off her face.

"NO! No, no, no!"My voice was getting quieter and quieter and she was disappearing.

The little voice told me it was okay. It was just a dream. I couldn't listen to it. The house was destroyed, where all my fun and young childhood dreams had come true. I loved the house and now it was gone. I wish I had had a proper goodbye.

. . .

Saturday, July 18.

Someone was telling me everything was going to be okay; to wake up. That was silly. I was already awake. The house was destroyed and I was just there. It wouldn't be okay.

I realized it was dark.

I said, "No," again.

Someone repeated that it would be okay.

"WAKE UP, BEATRICE!" the voice screamed. It was Calvin. Why did he sound so urgent?

"Dad, I'm okay." I said, my voice a little slurred.

I opened my eyes, I guess they _were_ closed. His face was above mine. He was holding my shoulders; he must have been shaking them.

He said, "You've been screaming!"

"I have?" My voice was shaky and I worked to get it steady.

"Yea, Triss. You were saying, 'no' and screaming over and over. I thought someone was murdering you!"

"It was just a dream, Dad." I said.

"What was it about?" he asked, he sounded miffed.

"Dad, go back to bed. I'm fine," I muttered.

"I want to know what it was about!" He really was angry, no, I misinterpreted it, concerned.

"Really, Dad, I can't remember. Go back to bed." That wasn't the truth.

"It was a nightmare that's all I know," I winced, suddenly the embarrassment hit me. I never had nightmares; my tired voice was hopefully hiding the unsure lie in my voice.

He bought it. "All right then. Are you sure?" I could tell that he really did want to go back to bed and he was trying to hide this.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Go back to bed," I urged.

He sauntered off and I heard the door click. I turned off the bedside table lamp. What was in my dream? I was afraid maybe the thing with mom wasn't such a great idea. I vaguely thought what Debbie would say about this.

I argued with the little voice for who knows how long. I drifted off to sleep in the early morning.

Goodbye

Saturday, July 18.

I stared at my nails while Calvin read the letter. He was just silent. I wish someone could or would say something to break it.

Finally he said, "Triss."

I glanced up at him and he looked confused. I wouldn't show him the letter with such reluctance unless I knew he would be uncomfortable about it. If I didn't want to move to my mom's I would have given him the letter without reluctance and as soon as he read it I would say that I was staying.

"Do you want this?" he asked, incredulous.

After a pause I looked into his eyes and said, "Yes."

He looked appalled. I have never expressed an interest in even _visiting_ my mother for seven years. We kind of just slipped out of visits. It cost a lot of money anyway.

"I think if she is willing to try, I am," I said trying to keep my voice steady.

It worked; Calvin looked at me and said in an unsure voice, "Alright."

I breathed. I had no idea that I hadn't been. He looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"I guess, call her and let her know the news," he sounded as though something just happened and it hadn't hit him yet. I was spot on.

He walked out of the kitchen as if in a daze. I knew he'd be okay. He always would be. He was just shocked at the suddenness of it all. So was I.

I wouldn't even have ever thought about visiting my Mom. I had no idea why I was pushing myself to this new extreme. I was taking a huge risk not knowing the extent of things in Oregon. I couldn't even tell myself why I was doing this.

Perhaps I thought it would be a wonderful life away from Debbie. Maybe I yearned to see my childhood dream home. A fresh new start at a new school was always nice. All of these reasons are why I was taking a huge jump into the pool of uncertainty.

I fought with the little voice in my head for hours last night; staying up until the early hours of the morning. The only thing keeping me awake was the fact that I had so much to think about. The only thing that got me to sleep was exhaustion. When I did fall asleep I had another dream that I can't remember, but I remember that this dream was a better version of the previous nightmare. The small voice kept my brain in check as I slept; never letting in those bad thoughts I had about my Mother in.

I feel like I've been in a train wreck. The only thing is can my dad see that I feel like I've been in a train wreck? Does he also have the same ability I do to see through peoples pretenses?

It's nothing magical, I think; I can just read body language and eyes very well. I read my dad's emotions when he went through his depression. I can tell when my dad has something that he wants to say and he knows it will be just a little uncomfortable. For this, I thank my strange ability. I can tell when he wants to tell me something I don't want to necessarily hear, and I can prepare myself for it.

I had to call my mom. I got up and went to the phone and found the small address book that we keep all of our important phone numbers in. We haven't called my mom in over a year. That I know of.

I found her number and hoped that I would get her answering machine. What if it was a cell phone and she answers? What if she doesn't answer? Either way it's nerve-wracking so I might as well get it over with. I dialed her number with trembling fingers and sat at the bar.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Each ring felt like was an hour long.

It rang five more times and a voice said, "Hello?"

I couldn't say a word.

"Hello?!" the voice was more urgent this time.

Before I could give them a chance to hang up I said, "Hi, sorry – I," I couldn't finish.

"Who is this? Is this a prank call?"

"No." I finally breathed.

"I am looking for Jennie." I hoped I didn't sound like I was anxious.

"This is her," answered the voice, my Mom's voice.

I was glad Calvin wasn't here to witness this he might change his mind about letting me go.

"This is Beatrice," I managed after a pause. I heard a sigh on the other end.

"I've been waiting for your call," she proclaimed.

"I know I got your letter yesterday. I have a – an answer for you." This was getting easier and easier by the second. This is a good sign.

"Well, um. I would love to know what that answer is, Hun." She sounded lovely. She sounded like I imagined my mother to sound. I had forgotten what it was like to hear her.

"I am choosing to," I heard an intake of breath from the other side, "Move in with you." The breath was let out slowly. I let mine out, too. Somehow, I keep holding my breath without realizing it.

"How exiting!" She exclaimed. "Like I said, tickets on speed dial!" She sounded like a little kid with a new toy.

"I need a week to get all my stuff packed up, you know," I told her.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course," she now sounded eager. "I'm so excited! I get to finally meet you after all of these years. Seventeen, I can't believe it!"

I let her ramble than said, "how about I call you after I get something done?"

"The same here, I will get back to you about tickets and luggage, ya know, the whole thing." She was starting to sound normal again.

"All right, then. I'll talk to you later; soon, Mom."

"Talk to you later, then." She said and hung up.

I put the phone on the hook and Calvin walked in.

"What did she say?" he asked, leaning against the door jamb.

"She's exited. She says she'll call when things are ready and I'll call when my things are ready."

"Okay; I will get you some boxes from work," he sounded tired.

"Kay, Dad. Thanks."

"Hey kid, no problem. I've got to get to work; that could be a problem if I don't get moving!" He was back to his old self in a flash.

Debbie was already gone, off to her job at _Mary Kay_, which was a very good thing. I didn't want Debbie to be in the middle of this. She would eventually have to know though. That will be a day to remember.

I have to tell the few friends that I have that I will be leaving soon. I don't think they will be dreadfully sad I'm leaving. They might actually be a little bit happy. They, of course, would try to hide their happiness but I will see right through it like always.

Being different has always had a part in getting friends. The past few years it's been easier but I still don't have devoted friends; the ones who stay with you through thick and thin. Nope, the friends I have will be happy for me to leave. I didn't care though. As long as I had Calvin; and in a few weeks it would my Mom taking his place.

I made a plan of action.

When school was in session I had one friend per class, plus a few others in lunch. That made a short list of ten people, I wasn't sure if they even knew each other. I wrote all the people down. I looked at the names I scrawled on a piece of notebook paper with a sudden sadness, time to call them.

First is my best friend, Jamie Ellison. She is my partner in math and we get along just great. We've had a sleepover or two in the past year. She is the only one I expect to be remotely sad I'm leaving.

I was right about that. She said we'd have to keep in touch while I was away. She wished me good luck and rambled about how she would miss me. My red lights weren't flashing, which meant she was sincere. I almost cried as I said goodbye and made all the promises I could think of. I would be missing her.

I liked Jamie a lot. She had a certain way about her that made me like her more than all my other friends. I was jealous of her long blond hair and she was really pretty. She didn't have the same style as all the other teens, like me. She was just, likeable. I really would miss her.

When I called Tally, my second best friend and partner in social studies, I didn't expect quite as much enthusiasm as Jamie has shown. Boy, I was in for a surprise. She was crying all over the place as I told her I would be leaving. She was as sincere as Jamie had been! I silently cursed my ability to gauge my status with friends.

Tally wasn't my favorite person in the world. She wore just a little too much make-up. She didn't wear as much as Debbie but still a lot of it. She had her own sense of style, too. But it was fashionable which made her more popular than me.

She had black hair that she often wore in a ponytail trailing down her back. She was too talkative. I myself don't have much to say but Tally _always_ has something to say.

When I called Tommy I was expecting his reaction. He wasn't happy that I would be leaving, but he wasn't sad I was leaving. He masked his wrong motions but, inevitably, I saw through them.

I like Tommy for his smarts. I could never like a boy like him though. He was tall and gangly. He had short black hair that he never smoothed down. He wore glasses and he was often called pizza face.

I had heard rumors that Tommy thought I liked him and he avoided touching me or walking next to me in the hall. I tried to explain to him that the rumors weren't true but I don't think he fully believed it.

It went on like that for the next half hour or so. When I called Maria she said she was sorry but she really had to go; right after she explained that she was disappointed that I had to leave. Friends five through ten just sat on the other line without much emotion. At least none of them were happy that I was leaving.

That night Calvin came home with ten empty, folded, cardboard boxes. I began to put together some of the brown folds.

"Ya know, dad." I began. "You didn't have to get ten boxes."

"I know, but having too many is better than having too little," he said with a smile. He was leaning in the door jamb, something he usually did when he was chatting with me.

"I'll leave you to start packing," he said and he turned and strode out the door way without another word.

I packed all my books in one box, all my picture frames and small decorations in another. I wrapped the picture frames and other glass or breakable delicates in newspaper that Calvin brought in for me.

I put everything else that I wouldn't need in another box; I filled that one and moved to another. I packed my winter clothes in a box; I wouldn't need those until summer was over. I left out just my summer clothes; a small collection of Tank tops, worded t-shirts, shorts, cut off jeans, and capris and I couldn't forget my toiletries.

My room looked really bare; the only things left that were showing were a few posters and my lavender bedspread. I would defiantly ask mom if I could take that.

When I went to the living room to find that Debbie and Calvin were in bed, I looked at the clock. It was nine PM. I gasped and ran back into my room to put my pajamas on and brush my teeth. I needed the sleep, bad.

It was then I realized I was exhausted. The combination of the long day and lack of sleep from the night before was taking a toll on me.

I crawled into bed to get to sleep; expecting a wave of thoughts to rush in. but I drifted to sleep and stayed that way. I slept like a rock.

Something Old & Something New

Saturday, August 1.

Debbie scowled down at me.

"So you're leaving?" she asked in her rudest tone possible.

"Yes, Debbie. Your dreams are finally coming true," I said this with a smile.

She just sneered. Calvin was there, so she couldn't do much else.

I knew what she was thinking, though. I could see it on her face. It _was _her dreams coming true. She had been waiting for this for the four years her and Calvin had been married. She hated how much I was taking from Calvin; without even really taking anything from him. It made her savage.

I turned to my dad and altered my expression to be a combination of happy and sad.

"Bye, Dad." I said, sparing the use of his name for his sake.

"I'll miss you, Beatrice." He didn't spare me the use of my full name.

"You had better call while your away," he had a playful tone but underneath he meant what he said.

"Of course, Dad!" I jumped forward and gave him a huge hug.

"I would never forget you!" I couldn't see his face but I could tell he was surprised at my sudden hug, he hugged me back.

"You better get going the people are starting to board."

I looked over at the archway to the long extendable hallway that led to the entrance of the plane. Sure enough, the many different looking people were crowding in and handing the lady at the small podium their tickets.

I gave my dad one last tight hug, tossed Debbie a fleeting look mixed with a sneer and hoisted up my small backpack to put it on my shoulders. I headed bravely toward the archway. I didn't look back because I was afraid that if I did I would cry. Besides, I couldn't face Debbie's satisfied look if I turned around either.

I handed the lady my ticket and she said, "Welcome aboard Delta airlines!"

I smiled and moved forward. I found my seat and got comfortable. I wasn't lucky enough to have the window seat.

Eventually people filed into the plane and the seats on either side of me were taken.

On my left, a woman who reminded me of Debbie without all the make-up sat. She had a round face with rosy cheeks. Her hair was longer than earlobe length but not quite to her shoulders. It was brown, highlighted, and flipped out to the sides. She wore a business skirt and short sleeve blazer in a crème color. Her round body filled out the outfit nicely and I thought she looked like a real estate agent or a lawyer. She had a lap top case with her that she had on her lap. She seemed nice enough. She said good morning and took the isle seat.

On my right, the window seat, a man who looked like he could use a few crunches sidled in, with difficulty. I turned my face, trying not to get the full extent of his large behind.

He was the type with half his hair gone and graying. His wore slacks and a button-up shirt tucked in. he was unpleasantly rounder than the woman on my other side.

He sat without a word and put on the headphones he brought that was connected to his IPod. He closed his eyes and put his head back.

The plane took off with a jolt and pushed me back into my seat. I smiled.

"Is this your first time?" the woman asked me.

I looked at her and she was smiling.

"Since I was nine, it's pretty exciting."

"I'm Dalia." She held out her hand, an awkward gesture because we were sitting next to each other. I shook it.

"I'm Beatrice."

After that we didn't talk much. We mentioned a few things about the weather in Oregon and in Georgia. I mentioned some things about summer vacation and she mentioned a few things about her work. It turns out she _was_ a real estate agent.

The lady came around with the rolling cart of food; just like in the movies. I got some of those little crackers and a coke. She told me that the plane would be landing at two and that lunch would be brought around at noon.

I played Sudoku and did some crosswords for a while but got bored. I tried to read but found that couldn't hold my attention. So I just stared off into space to think about the upcoming events.

What I knew: Mom would be waiting for me where I got off the plane. She said we would catch a cab. In fact that's all she told me over the phone. That made me nervous.

I have no idea what happens after the cab; early dinner; home; to her work to meet her colleagues? _Right._

I know the nightmare about my mom was just a result of my worry and stress, but I couldn't help but feel just a little uneasy about the meeting with my mom. In my dreams my petty fear came true, that it would not be the same as my childhood. The dream said that it was more than different. It said that everything was going to be, with no use of a better word, a nightmare.

It was stupid, my worrying, she's my mom after all. I vowed to stop the worry before lunch came around. I succeeded and I was proud of myself, I hadn't been able to stop worrying for the past two weeks. I was fighting with myself in my head that it wasn't a good idea to move completely away from Calvin. Now, after concentrating very hard on the good things I deleted any nonsense. That was something I've never been able to do.

Finally, the plane landed and I walked slowly, composing my features. I saw her sitting in a seat in my terminal. She was looking around, looking for someone. She looked so much like me just older; same dark brown hair and green eyes. Her face was in-between round and thin, slender neck, and a pale, clear complexion.

I ran forward, "Mom?"

"Beatrice?"

She got up when I nodded and gave me a big hug.

"It's _so_ nice to finally meet you!" she exclaimed.

"It's exciting," I agreed.

"Let's go, I have a surprise for you!"

_Uh oh._ This is what I'd been dreading. What happens next? I didn't let the nerves creep into my brain, but I still was worrying. We got my luggage and headed to get a cab.

I asked several times where we were going but mom just smiled and said, "Not telling."

The cab driver said that we were as far as he could take us; that the gravel was too much on his yellow car.

Mom just nodded and proceeded to take my luggage out of the cab.

"What are we doing here?" I asked. I was beginning to get hysterical with not knowing what the hell was going on.

"We're going to see your new house."

I raised my eyebrows. "You don't have a house – an apartment?"

"Yea, I do. The one were about to see. The one I had was only a one bedroom. We need a two bedroom so I took up this one a month or so ago."

"So let me get this straight. You had an apartment with a one bedroom but instead of getting a bigger apartment you chose to come way out here and find a house." It wasn't a question, it was a fact and I didn't mean it to sound accusing.

"Sort of, you'll see when we get there. Unless you just hate it..." She trailed off and looked at me with hopeful eyes.

"Well," I said slowly. "I guess we should have a look. Then we'll decide." She hopped up and grabbed my hand.

"I'll help with your stuff," she waved her hand at my luggage and proceeded by grabbing one of the bags and walking down the long gravel driveway. I couldn't see the end of it.

Luckily I had worn Tennis shoes this morning before I got on the plane. I still had no idea what Oregon looked like because I was so wrapped up in where we were going I didn't even look out the window.

We arrived at the house. It was my childhood memory house. When Grandma Ursula died mom must have taken it in. it was huge. Not mansion size but still bigger than what Calvin and I had in Georgia.

She beamed at me, "isn't it great?!"

"I've been waiting to see this house for eight years! I can't believe that were moving in!" I was ecstatic.

The house had a certain charm to it. It was settled into a clearing of the green woods. The house was painted white and it had lots of bushes and trellises climbing the walls. There was a spot for a car but no garage, too old of a house to have a garage. The roof was grey shingles. I could tell that there had been many add-ons to this house. The front door was green and had two little opaque windows on it. It had a lovely little front porch where a rocking chair could be.

"It's all ours?" I asked after taking the house in and peering into the windows.

"Right now!" She was happy I accepted the house because she loved it and didn't want to leave her favorite place either.

"All right! Let's get my luggage in there!" I started walking toward the house and she extracted an old key from her big bag and unlocked the door. I turned around because I heard a small noise behind us. I searched the driveway but saw nothing. I shrugged and turned to go in the house. I was so excited to see the place after so long.

It was amazing inside as it had been outside, so cozy. Her furniture was in the living room that I was standing in. A floral couch and loveseat, wooden end tables and coffee tables, numerous paintings and photos on the walls and mantel, a pretty rug on the wooden floors, and the cutest little window seat. I could spot the stair way, the hall and two other doorways; one led to the kitchen.

"It's such an old house," I said as I ran my hand over the green and lace opaque curtains in the window seat. I walked over to the mantel and found a picture of me as a baby. I traced my fingers around my face and turned back to my mom.

"This house is where my mother lived for so long. I love this place."

As she was stuck in reverie I walked toward a doorway. I didn't know what was on the other side. I walked through and it led to a bedroom, my mother's bedroom. I turned and went down the hall. There was a bathroom and closet across from each other. At the end of the hall there was another bedroom, this one had simple furniture in it. I walked out and wandered into the kitchen.

It had the most beautiful old table sitting against one wall, with matching chairs. I remembered it. It had an old fridge and stove. The microwave was new. There was no dishwasher. A door led to a back porch that I could see looked like the front one.

I went to the stairs. My mom was sitting on the couch waiting for me to finish my little overview of the house.

"The upstairs is pretty much yours." She said.

I nodded and went up. The stairs opened up into a hall where three closed doors waited for me. I went to the first one on my left. When I opened it a bathroom was staring at me. I went to the next door on the left wall. It was one other lightly furnished bedroom. I wondered why mom kept furniture in them.

The last door was my bedroom. Even if my mom hadn't put all the beautiful furniture in there I would have chosen it. It had a wrought iron queen bed right in the middle; I was facing the side of the bed in the open doorway. The bedspread was purple like the one at Calvin's. There were white see through curtains hanging from the four-poster's bars. The window had red and white curtains hanging from it.

At the foot of the bed was a door. It led to a bathroom. There was a little white desk and vanity on some of the walls. On one of the walls a large wooden wardrobe opened up like a kitchen cupboard.

I raced down the stairs, "Oh, thank you. I love it!" I ran to my mom and gave her a hug.

"I had a feeling you would. I think we're very alike."

"I have to call Calvin. Let him know."

She pointed wordlessly to the kitchen and I searched for a wall phone. Of course there was one just where you would expect it to be.

I dialed my old home number and Calvin picked up.

"Hey, dad," I said.

"Oh. Hey, kiddo. How was your flight?"

"It was okay, pretty boring actually."

"You didn't get a window seat then?"

"Nope, I wish I had."

"I'm glad you made it with no trouble. Do you like your new house?"

"Dad, I love it. It's great."

He laughed and said, "And you must be getting along with your mother just fine then, huh?"

"Yea, she's really nice."

"You call me if there is _anything_ wrong, all right?"

"Sure, Dad. I know what you mean and I hope I won't have to call you. Love you, and have a good night."

"I will kiddo, night." The sound of the receiver clicking was my cue to put my phone down. I had a question for mom that had popped into my head when I thought about the stuff the people in security hadn't let me take onto the plane. My shampoo and conditioner were long gone along with any other liquid.

"Hey, mom," I called.

"Yea?"

"Where's your car?"

What Goes Bump

Saturday, August 1.

We were riding in another yellow cab.

"Do you like it so far?" my mom asked me.

"I love this place! I can't believe I finally get to see it!" I exclaimed.

When we drove in from the airport I wasn't looking at the green wonder that was Oregon, I was concentrating so hard on where we were going. Now we were riding in a yellow cab to go and get moms car. She said it was at the auto body shop, somewhere way out there. She said she had no idea why the car had stopped working in the first place but that was why she had dropped it off there.

I knew that with my driving expertise it wouldn't be too hard to maneuver. We lived in a town called Silverton, very small and populated the same. The houses were sparse and the little shops weren't well known.

The majority of Oregon was set up where there were the bigger cities were concentrated and the smaller towns were spread out across the rest of the state.

I had a hard time believing Oregon had a desert type area. My mom said if you drove west you hit a dry spell of country. If you drove south she said you hit small towns and if you drove north you hit major towns. My favorite direction was east, it led to towns like Lincoln city where you could visit the Pacific Ocean.

I didn't drive horrible; it's just that I've only learned how to drive Calvin's big truck. I was used to that. It was a small town out in Georgia, where I previously lived. Hardly anyone was on the road when you were. I guess for the most part Oregon was like that until you hit the freeway and entered Portland, Salem or Woodburn. I'm not sure which big city you would hit first but they are all over there, going toward the valley.

Mom's car better be something that can drive down a very bumpy, gravel road, the gravel road that led to our house. If her car couldn't get down that than what was the point of going to pick up the car from the auto body shop?

The cab driver stopped outside a spot in Silverton.

"Twenty five dollars." The gruff cab driver was leaning out his window that he had rolled down and was staring at us expectantly. I was sure he needed the money; his cab was beat up pretty bad.

My mom tossed him some money; he counted it and then sped away.

She walked up to the small door that was next to the large metal garage door, a monster in comparison. It was the kind that you could roll up to let a car in. It went all the way to the top of the building. This building looked old; it was made of red brick.

I followed in after her and she said a few words to a guy in dirty coveralls. He nodded and protruded a key from a drawer. She took it from him and strode back to the door we came in, I followed.

"Where is it?" I asked as we started to walk down the alley way.

"It's behind this building." She answered.

We walked a little ways and sure enough there was a break in a chain link fence that opened up to a dusty car lot. She walked down one of the rows and pressed the button on the key ring. One of the cars beeped and I whirled to see a small car behind us.

It was just a small car. Something Dodge, but I didn't really pay attention to the model. It was red and it looked like it could maneuver through the many gravel roads with ease. It also looked like the body was far enough up off the ground that it could go down the gravel driveway just fine. That's all I cared about so I smiled.

We drove home and we chatted about this and that. She asked me about simple things that I knew the answers to already. She seemed content to do so.

I had a dreamless night and I woke up feeling refreshed. I decided to unpack my stuff.

Sunday, August 2.

After I took a shower and got dressed I went downstairs to say hi to mom. I was too late; she had left a note on a bag of doughnuts that said that she went to work. I scarfed down the doughnuts and went back upstairs. I tied a hair band around my long, brown hair and set to it.

I unpacked a box and put all my winter clothes in the wardrobe along with my summer clothes. I laid the box, folded outside my door.

That's when I heard a click; a clicking noise defiantly there. It was a noise that you might get if you tapped your coat zipper on the wall as you walked by. Or set your keys down on the kitchen counter. This noise was the same, but louder.

I cocked my head to one side and leaned over the railing of the stair case. I was sure it came from downstairs.

"Hullo?" I called down the stairway.

No one answered.

I must have imagined the clicking noise, but it was just so loud and clear!

I shook my head and returned to my room to resume unpacking. I didn't hear the clicking noise again. That confirmed my belief that it might have been the water heater turning on, the AC or the house settling. I didn't know much about that kind of a thing but I was sure that it wasn't my imagination.

I finished unpacking without any other disturbances. My room looked great, like I always had lived there. I was proud of myself for how much work I got done and by now it was lunchtime.

I raided the fridge for stuff to make sandwiches and ate with a ringing silence surrounding me. I had to figure out what to do for the next four hours.

While I was pondering this there was a knock at the door. I probably looked comical, my cheek full of food maybe a little mayo in the corner of my mouth and my eyes wide. I jumped and then I jerked my head up to look at the door, a little startled from the incident before. I was pulled out of my reverie in a snap and I went to see who it was.

I peered out the windows that were on the front door. They had quarter-sized diamond facets covering them in an intricate pattern; I could see the blurry outline of the person on the other side.

When I opened the door a little old lady stood in front of me. She wasn't _that_ old but she sure had the worry lines of someone who had been through enough to be considered old. She looked like any other older woman you would see in a supermarket or gardening on a Saturday morning. She was holding a tray of brownies and smiling up at me.

"Hello, I'm Caroline. Caroline hopper." She said in sharp friendly tones. Her accent was unfamiliar.

Startled, I gaped at her for a few seconds.

"Hi, I'm Beatrice. You haven't met my mom?"

She looked at me and said, "Well, no. I just noticed that you moved in recently, I brought you some of my baking to help you ease into the community."

"Thank you! I'm sorry my mom isn't here to meet you; she'd be thrilled to meet one of our neighbors. Tell me, how many neighbors do I have?" I gestured for her to come in and she shook her head.

"I can't talk long, sweetie, I've got more in the oven. There's Bobby Long in a trailer over there." She paused then looked past me an eager expression on her face. She took a step forward and smiled widely at the space behind me.

Scared that someone was in the house I turned quickly and no one was there. Actually _nothing_ was there. It was the empty hall. How sad, I looked at her with a little bit of pity. The poor old woman was crazy.

"Oh, all right. I'll somehow get to know him too." She had pointed to the areas that the people lived, including herself.

"Goodbye Mrs. Hopper."I wanted her to go.

"Please, call me Caroline." She gave me a very warm and genuine smile "I hope I have the chance to speak with you again Miss Finn." She waved as she turned to go back to her house.

It was after she was gone I realized I had never told this woman my last name! I couldn't see any point in her lying about meeting my mom already. She seemed like a nice, old lady. Why would she lie about that?

I shivered in the June heat as I stood there. Creepy things just keep happening to me today. I suddenly wanted back in the house and not to leave it until my mom came home from work.

I went inside and since I was still holding the tray of brownies I put them in the trash. I didn't like the way that woman had looked and I didn't trust her. I went to the living room and chose a DVD. I sat on the couch and vegged thinking about the past few days' events and something my mom had told me.

She said that her work had a tendency to come home with her. I wondered what the hell that could mean.

She had those furnished bedrooms, too. No one is going to be staying here. Why does she need more beds?

While I pondered I drifted to sleep, the lazy summer air made my eyelids droop. I could faintly hear the movie but it was just a low buzz. My head swam.

I awoke with a start. I was dreaming that the clicking noise was happening again but I hadn't been dreaming about any clicking noises. I came to a conclusion that the clicking noise woke me up.

I sat up, my tank top twisted to the side revealing a small corner of my bra, my eyes wide, my arms stretched out behind me with my elbows locked so to hold me up and my legs strait out in front of me. I could feel my hair sticking to my cheeks and around my neck and wildly sticking up, the blanket tangled in my legs. I quickly turned my head to the left then right and even behind me. _Nothing_.

I really was freaked today.

I got up and floundered around to get my hair and clothes strait. I turned off the electronics. When I stretched I heard the familiar sound of a car crunching along on the driveway.

I heard _two_ doors slam. Crap. If that clicking noise hadn't woke me up mom's guest would have seen me all…

I froze. I stared wide eyed and looked around quickly but there was nothing, _no one_ in the house with me.

I quickly composed my face as mom and the guest walked in. I shook my head to clear it.

Mom walked in with a short scruffy woman, probably in her twenties. She looked around calmly and mom smiled at me. Did I detect an apology in her smile?

"Beatrice – Molly. Molly – Beatrice." She said and gestured toward us as she said our names.

"Hello, Molly. Nice to meet you." I walked forward to greet her by shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, too, Beatrice. I've actually heard quite a bit about you," she said as she shook my hand.

So my mom prompted her in the car about her little girl that just moved in with her. I looked at my mom with an accusing glare.

"Um, I guess I've never actually told you what my job is." My mom said to me.

"I guess you haven't," I agreed.

"I help woman and young teen girls off the streets." She was very serious.

"I am a counselor and social worker for them and I do their legal work for free or little cost. I help people who are in need of it. I am taking Molly in for three days then she will move to another home. For now, she stays in a spare bedroom."

"Sounds good to me," I said and my mom looked a little relieved.

After we got Molly situated in her room my mom pulled me aside.

"Sorry I didn't tell you all of my job description before," she sounded sorry. "It didn't occur to me that I might have to bring in someone so soon after you moved in. I have a key for you to lock your door. These women I sometimes bring in, they aren't dangerous but they might have the temptations to go into your room, especially when you're gone. So keep your room locked up with the key and keep the key with you while you're away. They won't take anything that you will notice is gone." The whole time she was telling me all this she had her hand clamped tightly on my shoulder and she was looking into my eyes with a serious expression on her face. I held my eyes wide open and nodded.

"Okay." I tried not to look afraid or anything.

"Sorry, Hun. It's just precautions. Don't mind it. And don't be scared of any of the woman I bring in. they are more scared of you than you are of them. They are traumatized."

I remembered this conversation as a lay in my locked bedroom, plus something else.

She asked me if I'd noticed that one of the back door's window panes was broken and she asked me if I left a hammer lying outside the door. Of course I didn't. Our house was broken into.

Entity

Sunday, August 2.

We debated our predicament with the break-in for a while. She said she left around nine that morning and then stopped by before work to drop off doughnuts at nine thirty. No broken panes.

I had gotten up at ten. I didn't notice the pane broken while I ate breakfast. I was upstairs until around noon, unpacking. When I came down for lunch I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice then. And I was downstairs for the rest of the afternoon. If something would have happened then I would have heard it.

My mom called the police and they promised to come out tomorrow.

The first thing I thought of was the click, the click that happened between ten and noon. The window-breakers time slot when I was upstairs and wouldn't hear a thing. Except for the loud click that probably sent the thief away. Who knows what else they might have been planning to do with that hammer.

The second thing I thought of was the fact that Caroline came over right after the thief's window of time. I couldn't bring myself to think that the little old lady had anything to do with the attempted break-in, but she did act very peculiar.

It would be fairly embarrassing to tell my mom we had a – ghost. I have no ideas otherwise to explain the eerie noises that saved me from embarrassment and maybe scared the thief away, tried to warn me. _Coincidence?_ It didn't seem plausible.

Nope. I wouldn't tell my mom about the clicking noises. It seemed as though if I did, _if she believed me_, something would happen and this strange new find would disappear. I, to my own surprise, wanted to meet the thing that potentially saved my life; to thank it.

What about Caroline Hopper who seemed to know my full name despite my _not_ telling her. Were these events linked?

I was pretty freaked, how could someone, something, be so close and me not know? The fact remained that it happened and I was taking some precautions when mom left.

I drifted to sleep thinking disturbing thoughts and dreaming disturbing dreams.

. . .

The scenes flicked by in my brain, Georgia, Oregon, my room, my room back at Calvin's, the green woods behind the house, the gravel driveway, the interior of a plane, an old garage. They flicked by so fast that I could barely tell what the scenes were.

My focus was not entirely on the scenes flicking by though. I was staring at the thing in the center. Well the being, the – entity. I had no way to tell you what the thing was, there's no way to describe it.

He – I just knew that it was a male entity – wasn't looking at me he was pointing behind me, his expression horrified. I could hardly bring myself look away he was so beautiful even with his panic stricken face. I whirled around and saw the dark shadow of someone standing just outside our front door. There was no door it just looked like they were behind the one downstairs.

They were walking slowly toward me something in their hand that looked suspiciously like a hammer. I whirled back to my entity boy and he wasn't there. I turned back to the man.

The man was lying on the floor, his outline blurred with the diamond like facets of the door. My entity boy was there holding the hammer and smiling at me his smile inviting and friendly…

. . .

Monday, August 3.

I stared at the ceiling for half an hour after I woke up. I just didn't feel like getting up and getting dressed just yet.

Mom was going to be here for the next three days while Molly was here.

What to do, what to do.

Yesterday's events flooded back to me.

"Stupid Caroline Hopper, Stupid Clicking noise, Stupid dream." I grumbled to myself as I got dressed. I carefully locked the door to my room.

I went downstairs and despite my grumbling, met my mom with a smile. This would be a good day, I could just tell.

"Hey, Mom!"

"Hey!"

"You know I met someone yesterday that I never got the chance to mention." I said this matter-of-factly. She looked surprised.

"Oh yea?" she looked at me with a sly smile.

"Who?" She asked.

"This lady named Caroline Hopper. Ring a Bell?" I wasn't expecting her answer.

"Nope, I've never met anyone by the name of Hopper." She looked puzzled, yet intrigued.

I stared at my toast as a little wave of fear washed over me. _How did she know my last name?_

"Are you sure? She lives a little way from here and she knew my last name but I didn't mention it." I said this hopefully.

"I haven't met any of the neighbors." She looked a little scared herself.

"You must have told her and not realized it," she said hurriedly.

"No," I shook my head.

"I can remember everything that I ever said to her and I never said my last name. I thought you knew her. But when I asked her if she knew you she said no." I was still scared, my eyes wide. First the attempted break-in now this!

I was mystified and she was puzzled. We defiantly had a mystery on our hands.

. . .

"So the window was broken when your mom got home but not broken before lunch?" the policeman was asking us multiple questions.

His name was Detective Mathews and he was all cop. He had his blue uniform on from head to toe and I could tell he was proud of it. He had a thick swatch of brown hair on his head that he kept clipped close. His face was clean shaven. He had a nose that took up a whole lot of his face and small brown eyes. His face was thin and his build was as muscular as cops' build will get. He looked my mom's age because he looked older but the grey didn't get into his hair yet.

"Yes, Sir." I answered.

"And the lady, Mrs. Caroline Hopper came after the window was broken?"

"Yes, Sir." I said again.

He seemed to ponder this.

"Hmmm. And she was acting suspicious?"

"Yes, Sir. She knew my full name when I didn't tell her." It sounded silly after I said it.

"Don't you believe this is alarming that the woman knew your name and where you lived when you have never seen her before?" He looked at me than at my mom.

"Yes we do. I think she could have something to do with the break-in." I said this but doubt crept in. She could have just been there at the wrong time.

"Yea, yea. Um, where does this woman live and all the other people in this area?"

I pointed to the place that Bobby lived and the direction Caroline lived. He nodded and thanked us, then took off down the gravel road in his cruiser.

We had explained our whole story the best we could and showed him all the evidence. He had asked us if Molly might have anything to do with it, but of course she couldn't have, she hadn't been here.

We hoped that something good could have come from this. She decided that she needed to complete some errands that were piling up. I was stuck with Molly.

She came out of her room only to get something to eat or go to the bathroom. Now, she has become more comfortable with sitting on our couch. She was watching TV and eating microwave popcorn.

What to do, what to do.

The image of the woods came to mind. I remembered a waterfall that my mom took me out to when I was little. There was a wide sheet of water falling from about fifteen or twenty feet. You could walk behind it and there were logs washed up in the cavern from the winter floods. I remember it very clearly.

I couldn't get it off the brain so I decided to try and find it.

Filling a backpack with snacks and water bottles and told Molly I was leaving, she just nodded. I went out the back door after locking the kitchen door behind me. I looked for the three, familiar, snaking trails and chose the one in the center.

I walked, marveling at the trees and the light streaming through them. I found myself looking up. There were green ferns, squishy green moss, and trees and bushes by the ton. It was so beautiful. Like a giant green kaleidoscope.

I could smell the green moss. It didn't smell bad but it didn't smell good either, like dirt. I breathed in the strange scent. It was nothing like dry Georgia.

I walked along thinking about my dream, completely at ease. Then I felt uneasy, it hit me so suddenly that I stopped on the path. I looked around twirling in a circle. When I had made full circle and I was faced in the direction to head deeper in the forest again I kept walking. I still felt the unease.

I felt the need to stop again. I looked around me again and when I faced the path to head deeper into the woods I saw a figure ahead. I jumped and then hid behind a bush to peer at it.

I couldn't tell what he looked like because he was facing away from me. He never looked away from the direction he was going. This startled me because I always felt the need to look at the green surrounding me or the beautiful sunlight streaming in.

I got up from behind my bush and started a brisk walk toward him, never taking my eyes off him.

"Hey!" I called out I wanted to know how the hell he got on the trail without my noticing. I knew this was my feeling for unease. Had he been watching me from behind a bush? Is that why the multiple times I had spun in a circle I couldn't see him? I had looked very carefully, looking for any sign of color hidden the green.

He was wearing a red quilted jacket despite the heat. This startled me all over again. Red and green are contrasting colors and I would have spotted him through the bushes even from this distance. Plus, he was wearing a jacket and jeans! I was sweating in my tank top and shorts!

"Hey, you! In the red jacket!" I called after him again. I picked up my pace breaking into a steady jog; it was a good thing the trail was well worn but the vines and bushes threatened to cover the trail if not kept up.

"Hey!" I called again but it was useless he just kept walking at a steady pace. I had no idea why I wanted to reach him. I felt like I _needed_ to know who he was;_ needed_ to see his face, to meet him. I needed it as much as I needed the water I was craving to bring out of my backpack.

I was getting out of breath as I picked up my speed even more; I was running now. I should catch up to him any moment. The backpack jumped on my back as I ran I could hear the water sloshing in the bottles. I desperately wanted some but I _had_ to keep running.

I heard the sound of the waterfall ahead. The trail curved and I saw his profile which was disturbingly angry, he was out of sight. Despite all my running he never got any closer to my eyes.

I turned the corner and I couldn't see him but I saw the clearing up ahead with the white-grey river rocks blazing in the sunlight. I broke out of the tree line and looked around desperately for him. He was nowhere to be seen.

How peculiar that he should just disappear. How peculiar that he should never hear me yelling through the echo of the forest. How peculiar that he should appear on the trail so suddenly. How peculiar that I didn't see him through the bushes even though he wore that red jacket. How peculiar that I never caught up to him even though he was walking so slowly!

I sat on a rock as I pondered this. I chugged the water. I was tired from running. I was angry at him. He was ignoring me. What if –

My thoughts trailed off as I thought of my dream the night before. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and the water bottle slipped out of my hand and began to drain onto the rocks, making them turn dark gray. Hell, I wasn't even paying attention to that. A chill slipped down my spine and a gasp escaped my lips.

I left the water bottle on the ground and I turned back to the trail that I came out of. I didn't even have a chance to have a look at the beautiful waterfall. I ran through the woods as I slung the backpack back on my back. Hopefully I didn't have to run too far.

The boy in my dreams, my entity boy was the one I had seen in front of me walking for all that time. The beautiful boy in my dreams had been wearing the exact same quilted red coat and blue jeans. The boy was real and he was there. _He was real._

Questions and Answers

Monday, August 3.

"Are you sure, Detective Mathews?" I inquired.

"Sure as pie." He replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, it's just that why would someone want to do this to us? Why would someone put on a false name? We have nothing extremely valuable we have nothing that they could take! Do you think that the incidents are linked?" I exclaimed with exasperation.

"Maybe a grudge against your mother? You just moved here so it can't be against you. And I'm not sure about them being linked and so far in our investigation there is no evidence to suggest it. All we need is that little piece of evidence." He sounded like this is what his answer was for everything.

"Sure. I will talk with my mom. Thanks for everything Detective." I didn't care that I sounded forlorn.

"Don't mention it. You can mention it to Mrs. Finn but were going to come back out soon to question some more. I don't know why these things are happening to you but you just hold on tight, we'll get it strait in a jiffy." He sounded reassuring.

"All right, buh bye now."

"Bye, Miss." He hung up the receiver and I put mine on the hook. I breathed a sigh and Molly came in.

"This is pretty scary," She said. She stood uncomfortable in the door way.

"I'm scared too, Molly. I want it to end." I looked at her.

"Yea, no offense to you or anything, but I really can't wait to leave." She looked sorry.

"I don't blame ya," I said and I trudged into the living room to sit on the couch.

Detective Mathews just called to tell me that Caroline Hopper didn't exist. He told me that they searched everywhere, even out of state, and they couldn't find her. The cops had searched in the direction I had pointed to where her house was supposed to be and they didn't find anything. This was a very scary piece of information. I really didn't know what to do about all the events that were happening. I wanted to do _something_.

After coming home I had sat in my room for a while just sitting. I knew that I had some kind of a problem with this entity that was following me. I had come to this conclusion after an hour of sitting.

I debated getting one of those Ouijas boards and calling for him, but thought better of it. I didn't even know if he was a ghost. It felt stupid to do something I did when I was little at sleepovers for something so serious.

When I went over to a friend's house when I was little we got out the board and called for Bloody Mary. Of course she didn't show up. It felt stupid to do the same thing to call this boy if that's what I could call him.

I couldn't tell one bit if I was dealing with two situations or three. There was the break-in, fake Caroline Hopper and the boy. The boy couldn't have anything to do with the other events but the other events could also be linked.

Just then mom came in the door and I must have looked horrid because she asked what was wrong.

I told her about Caroline and she covered her mouth with wide eyes.

"Don't open the door when I'm gone anymore, all right?"

"I've already thought of that and I'm not gunna." I said.

It was already five so we cooked up some dinner and I was beat from my run in the forest. So I watched some TV until eight and went to bed.

. . .

I was running, running to meet up with the boy in the quilted coat. I was thirsty and dripping with sweat but the boy was so close and if I reached him I would get a drink.

This time I reached the boy and I grabbed his shoulder to spin him around. He smiled at me and I smiled back. I could feel a static in the air. _Pop!_

"I finally reached you." I wasn't thirsty anymore.

"I guess you have." He laughed and his eyes twinkled. His voice only intensified the electricity that I could feel tugging at my hair.

"What's so funny?" I asked ignoring the strange sensation.

"I thought that meeting you would be harder, but it's just so easy that I feel like laughing." And he did laugh. I could have laughed with him it was so nice.

"What do you mean? How would meeting me be hard?" I asked.

He looked at the ground and said, "I don't know, I just haven't been able to." He looked up and shrugged.

I searched his face, drinking it in. He was so beautiful it was hard to look away. What a peculiar dream. Then again, a lot of peculiar things have been happening to me lately.

"Not able?" I asked. I was tired of asking so many questions.

"It's hard to explain. I don't exactly know how it works, I just couldn't."

"How what works?" I asked yet another question.

"I don't know," He admitted.

"Why are you following me?"

"I think I need your help."

"I can't help you much." Finally I didn't have to ask a question.

"I know. I just feel like I should be around you. And I feel like I should warn you." He looked hostile.

"What can you even do for me? I tried to see you in the woods and you kept going." I sure hope I sounded accusing enough but it was hard because he was just so calming and beautiful.

"I'm sorry, I was angry and you only saw me for part of the time."

I almost asked him what he was mad about but thought better of it.

"Did you make the clicking noise?" I asked.

"Yea, I did, and scared that man away. The one in the black gloves and mask." he looked proud of himself.

"Thank you. I don't know what I could have done without you."

"Don't mention it. Now you know that clicking is me. Don't be afraid." He took a step forward and held out his hand.

. . .

Tuesday, August 4.

I was about to take it when I slipped into consciousness. A light was hitting my face and it had woke me up.

The dream! The boy in my dream! Was there really a boy? Was my mind making this up?

I sat up quickly and whispered, "Are you there?" It felt silly but I listened for something, a clicking. Nothing happened. Ugh, I'm so stupid.

I got dressed and went downstairs. My mom was eating breakfast and she pointed to a chair so I would join her. I ate for a while than she broke the silence.

"I have another surprise for you." She said evenly, smiling.

I let my expression ask a question.

"Come out here," she got up and walked to the front door. When she opened the door outside it sat a red truck with a big blue bow on top the hood.

I stood gaping at it for a moment and I could see my mom out of the corner of my eye waiting for my reaction. I registered that the whole truck was for me and I gave a shriek of delight.

I stumbled a few steps to her and hugged her. "Thank you, Thank you."

"It's all yours," she beamed.

I felt someone watching me from behind like the time in the woods, and I now realized, the time before I had entered my house for the first time. I whirled expecting to see a red coat.

Instead I got Detective Mathews. I had been spoiling for a confrontation and my face wasn't showing the welcoming signs. I changed my expression

"Hello Miss, good to see you. Were you expecting to see someone else?" His handsome features buckled as he frowned.

"No, no. I was just – you too. Come on in." I let him in and he sat down in the armchair. Mom sat on the couch. Molly strode in. I remained standing. We looked at him expectantly.

"Mrs. Finn," he began. "Do you have anyone who might want to harm you?" he asked my mom.

"Well no. why?" She looked puzzled.

"Because, we don't know who committed this crime and there is no leads. We have interviewed the neighbors and looked for Mrs. Hopper. We have nothing. Not a scratch of evidence. I'm sorry to say this case will come to a dead end if we have no new information." He looked tired at that moment and I felt sorry for him.

There was a pause as my mom chewed over this information. "I have no enemies. I only have friends." She finally said.

"Than I'm sorry to say that the investigation will be closed shortly and unless we get more information we won't continue." I liked Detective Mathews for his sincerity and he seemed like he genuinely cared.

"Than we won't waste any more of your time." I said hastily. I wanted him gone so he wouldn't suspect me of anything.

"I'm really sorry. I can't do anything else to help." I believed him. _Leave_, I thought.

"It's all right, thank you." I said and got him out the door.

My mom looked at me apparently ignoring the fact that I just shooed Detective Mathews out the door. "Guess we won't catch em' than. Huh, Triss." She said.

"Guess not," But I had other ideas.

That night I came up with a plan.

Wednesday, August 5.

I slept dreamless and when I woke up mom was gone on more errands leaving me free to my plan. I locked everything up and started walking toward Bobby Long's house. Phase one.

"Hello, I'm Beatrice." I said with a smile.

A man in his forties or fifties had opened a front door to a trailer in a yard of brown grass that was much too tall. He was tall and he had a receding hairline of graying brown hair. He had brown eyes that might have been friendly at one time and he was wearing overalls. He needed a shave, too.

"Hello." He said it so simply that I gave a little start.

"I'm the new neighbor. I live over there." And I pointed toward my house.

"Okay." I could tell he wasn't a chatty one.

"Can I ask you some questions?" I asked since apparently he wasn't going to let me in.

"What kind?" He asked.

This man was starting to get on my nerves.

"The police already asked me some." I was surprised that he already knew what I was going to ask questions about. He struck me as a man who wasn't educated but wasn't stupid either.

"I know but I have some more for you that could further the investigation." He looked at me like he would slam the door any second. He just stood there so I proceeded.

"Do you remember seeing a short older woman about three days ago?" I asked.

He paused for a moment then said, "Yea. Parked on the end of your driveway. Then walked up to your house with somthin' in 'er hands." I was so excited to have some information that I almost giggled.

"What did her car look like?" I asked. He looked at me kind of funny and thought for a moment. It looked painful.

"A van kind, Black one. Said somthin' on the side." He continued.

"What did it say? Was there windows?" I said quickly, eager. What an amazing jump in discovery! If he knew what it said than I would know how to find her!

"Said 'Francine's Supernatural Finds'. No windows." He said. I was so close to finding her. I only needed an address and I would confront her.

"Francine's Supernatural Finds'," I mumbled. I almost thanked him and turned to go but there were still a few more things to discuss.

"Did you ever see a boy in a red quilted jacket?" I asked. This wasn't originally part of the plan but I decided to ask anyway. It couldn't hurt.

I was surprised that the police didn't get this information already. Then it hit me that they didn't ask these particular questions. They were asking Bobby if he had seen anyone breaking into our house. Of course Bobby wouldn't have been able to tell! You can't even see the front corner of our house until you're halfway down our gravel driveway! The police never thought to ask who he saw going down the driveway or parked on the end of it.

Then it hit me that these people never had asked questions about Caroline. They were not linking the two incidents. I still thought they were linked. Hell, the police thought it was just some crazy old lady that had evaded the police records and computers all her life for all I knew.

"I never seen a guy in a red jacket." He said. _Darn_.

"And before any of this ever happened did you ever see a man walking down the street to my house wearing a black mask and gloves?" I asked.

"No," He said and slammed the door in my face.

Poor guy was crazy. I was surrounded by crazy people. I was lucky that I had gotten his information and I turned to go back to my house.

I got in my brand new (to me) truck and sped away toward the City of Silverton Library.

When I typed Francine's Supernatural Finds on the computer search engine only one site popped up. I clicked and scanned the site.

It seemed to be some sort of fan site but what were they fans of? I searched the website some more and found a little blurb about Francine's. It wasn't very nice and I'm sure it was put there to warn people to avoid this woman. She was really creepy after all.

_Francine's Supernatural Finds: One of the less known supernatural shops. Owner was a weird old lady in a weird old shop. She claims to have seen ghosts. _

_6734 Faraway RD S Silverton, OR. _

_For more places that deal with the supernatural click __**HERE**__._

I almost clicked on the link but thought better of it. 

Apparently someone doesn't like this woman. It didn't diminish my wish to find her. It was evident that her profession, if that's what I could call it, was a – a ghost hunter. I couldn't wrap my head around the word and believe it. None the less, the evidence was in front of my face, I had a ghost.

Dead Giveaway

Wednesday, August 5.

"Hello!?" I called out through the misty shop. I was looking for Francine, despite all my warning. I figured, _what could it hurt if I just wanted to ask some questions?_

"Hello?" I called out again looking over a desk shrouded in a purple velvet cloth. _Could this lady be any creepier?_ I expected to see cobwebs and a crystal ball sitting on a little spindly table! There _were_ incense sticks; I could smell the thick smoke.

Someone gripped my shoulder and I shrieked. I whirled around to face Francine. She looked like she had when she came to my house. That felt like months ago rather than five days ago.

She looked at me and I could see the emotions pass across her face; surprise, recognition, then chagrin. She bustled past me mumbling to herself and waving her short arms above her head. She went past a desk type of table that had a bell on it and went through a curtain of beads into another room. The beads made a noise like rain and then swayed frantically in the doorway.

"Hey, I want to talk to you!" I called.

"Go away!" she yelled back from inside the back room.

"I have to ask you some questions about what you saw in my house." I wasn't denying anything now.

There was a long pause as she seemed to realize I knew everything.

"You have someone in your house with you." She said and she slowly came out her room. I just looked at her, waiting for more.

"He likes your house and he _is_ a funny one." She smiled. "I'm sure he has no idea what the he is doing." She chuckled.

"Does he wear a red jacket?" I asked her and she looked at me in surprise.

"Oh, he has been bad." And she shook her head. "He did wear a red jacket. Tell me, when did you see him?" she looked truly interested. She didn't seem as crazy as everyone told her to be.

"In the woods and – in a few dreams and I've heard him before." I said the second part reluctantly but it might be useful information.

"I see, I see," she mumbled. She looked surprised that I could see him at all. She seemed to debate how much she wanted to tell me than sprang into explanation, "He is a ghost, a supernatural being. I don't know how this one is tied to you but he sure is. The bond is very strong, nothing I've ever seen. You see, I had to give him up when I noticed that he wouldn't be leaving the area anytime soon." She chuckled again but she was serious.

"How do you know?" I asked.

She peered at me curiously debated again but longer this time then slowly she said, "There are a few of us that can see the beings that are invisible to regulars. Let me tell you how rare for you to see him it is. I wonder – "

"What?! You wonder what?!"

She looked at me apologetically, "Maybe you are one of us."

I stared at her, disbelieving.

"One. Of. You." I pronounced each word carefully. I sat in a poufy armchair.

"A Seer." She looked at me with wonderment in her eyes.

I stared blankly at her face than an overwhelming urge to laugh presented itself. I suppressed the feeling but it bubbled out.

I held my stomach and rolled back with laughter. She looked grim.

"It is not a joke, and if my inkling is not correct than I am a dead woman." She said grimly. My laughter stopped abruptly and I stared at her in stark disbelief.

"What?"

"The rules are to not tell the regulars that we exist. There are a few of them that believe in ghosts and those are the ones that we don't have to hide completely from. That is why I can continue my profession and my secret job without regulars getting suspicious." She explained.

"Oh," was all I could think of to say.

"More like _uh_-oh." She said sarcastically.

"So how do we tell if I am one?" I asked her. I could not be responsible for this woman's death. This was unbelievable.

"I'll take you back into my shop to meet someone," She said. "She will tell if you are a Seer." So she began to walk back into the room and I went with her.

She walked up to the couch and there a woman sat. She was wearing a beautiful party dress and heels to match but after I caught a glimpse of her face I tried not to stare. She had a wide gash across it. It went from the bottom of her left eye and traveled to the bottom of her chin on the right side. It went right through her lips so her skin flapped as she spoke and moved.

I looked at the small coffee table in front of us and wondered why she didn't have it shut up with stitches. It was too bad she was very pretty. I let my eyes wander across her body, avoiding her face.

This girl was beat up pretty bad now that I looked closely. She had bruises running up and down her legs and arms. A lot of the bruises had small cuts to go with them. When I looked at her fingers I noticed with horror that a few were broken.

She shifted her weight and I had to close my eyes and suppress the nausea. Her right ankle was broken. It flopped around clad in the silver and jewel encrusted heel. I've never fainted but right now seemed like a good time to do just that.

I looked at Francine's face for instructions and she just looked back at me with an eager expression. I made myself look at the girl's pale, pale face. That should have been a _dead_ giveaway.

"I hope you don't mind my asking why you haven't gone to the hospital." It was a question but it had no inflection of a question in it. I was too shocked to have a feeling in my voice.

She laughed and said, "This one must be learning. Am I right Francine?" she looked up at Francine who was still standing. She looked pleased. Now I was majorly confused.

"I had to make sure I wasn't breaking any rules." she smiled at the girl and then smiled at me. "This is Gigi Jacobs," she said. "Gigi, this is Beatrice Finn."

"Nice to meet you," Gigi said. "I might offer you a hand if it weren't broken!" She howled with laughter at her own joke. I just stared in disbelief and horror at Gigi.

"Why haven't you been to the hospital?" I asked again, I was happy at how level my voice sounded.

"Honey, I'm dead." She said and howled again at her own joke. I didn't think it was funny. I was horrified. _Dead?_

"She's a ghost." Francine simplified. "If you are able to see her that means you are a Seer." She looked pleased again.

"So what does that mean? Do I get to see dead people like Gigi over here walking down the street!? Will they're heads be flopping around if that's how they died!?" I was beginning to get hysterical. Francine walked over to me and put an arm around me.

"Well, yes." She said.

I stood up and glared at her. "So what does that mean?" I asked again. "I see all these dead people and what do I do?" I was getting really hysterical now.

"Sit down Beatrice." She said, trying to sound soothing but her clipped accent ended up making her sound a little annoyed. I obeyed her and she put her arm around me again.

"I'm sorry you had to be told this so suddenly. Usually the parents are Seers too. The parents are the ones who generally do the explaining when the child develops their powers. You have shown your powers quite late and your parents don't have these powers either I'm assuming." She said.

"No, neither of my parents have ever told me about it but if they have to keep it quiet than wouldn't they have kept it from me?" I asked.

"No," She answered. "The parents prep the child for the day they will begin their mission to help the dead. You are a rare exception." She added the last part after a pause of recognition and awe.

"So I'm part of this because of a freak fluke is what you're saying." I said. It wasn't a question it was a statement.

"It sounds bad when you put it like that but I guess that, yes, that is what it is," she said.

I took a deep breath in then let it out slowly. "So what is my job?" I asked.

"Help the dead move on." She said.

"How?"

"Settle unfinished business. It might be making sure they're gravestone has flowers on it or it might be going back to their house and making sure the bed is made." She said and she smiled at some remembered trip to do so at someone's house.

"How do I do all this stuff without getting caught and without my mom knowing something is up?" I asked.

"If it is something like making someone's bed than you must have the ghost let you in somehow. We have a few things that we have in case of emergency," She said. "The Heightened Senses Corporation has a few tricks up their sleeves a little – magic." She said 'magic' with pizzazz.

"So if I do get caught they will – "

"Deal with it" she finished for me and gave me a smile.

"I will volunteer to be your teacher if you like or we can have it be arranged to where you go all the way to the HSC School to get training." She said and looked at me hopefully.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. "I would rather stay in Oregon. What about my mom?" I asked.

"Oh, Goody!" she exclaimed. "Your mom can be taken care of!" she said with excitement.

I looked at Gigi and I noticed for the first time that she had a transparency to her skin. I looked back at Francine and she was smiling at me. I wondered vaguely what they would do to mom to make her unsuspicious but it slipped out of my mind. I was thinking about my newfound 'gift' in awe.

I went home in a little daze. I drove went into the house but it was only a vague memory.

She had explained all the 'rules' to me. Basically they were easy to follow. One, the untroubled will come to me and I am to do as much as possible to help them; two, don't interfere with they're pasts'; and three, absolutely do not let any of the 'regulars' know what we are, what our world means or what _they_ are.

Revealing secrets were punishable by Heightened Senses Corporation; otherwise known as the HSC. They were a ruthless but subtle bunch of the most qualified in the supernatural world. If you broke the sup world law they could kill you depending on the time and money spent on clean-up.

I was told that I had an amazing gift and that I should hone in on my senses to get to work. I wasn't sure if this is something I would ever have wanted. I didn't ask for it, I didn't ever say I wanted supernatural abilities. Hell! Who would?!

I was also giddy with excitement because it was something magical and new to be discovered. It could make my life exiting; it _would_ make my life exiting. My whole life I had been Beatrice Finn, that lonely girl. Now I was Beatrice Finn, part of a secret society that just so happened to be completely supernatural and powerful.

I can't do anything about it. I can't will it away, even if I wanted to get rid of my amazing gift. It's now my duty to let the supernatural come to me. With an ecstatic rush of giddiness it hit me hard. I am a Seer.

Remember

Thursday, August 6.

"Beatrice, I assume," said a tall blond woman. She was gorgeous, she was like a supermodel. Her face had a fair complexion that wore an expression of airiness. She had pink lips and her hair paired with her complexion and the teal suit made her look a bit like an Easter egg. The difference between me trying to pull this look off and her: she pulled it off perfectly. I was beginning to realize that I was not going to be able to compare with the majority of the supernatural community.

"Yea, I'm her." I said and I stuck out a hand to greet her.

"I am Trudy Gamnet." She said as she shook my hand. It was short and brief. All business. She wore a marvelous teal business suit and heels she even had the glasses to go with it. I knew I couldn't have made the suit look that good.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "Please come in."

"Likewise, thank you." She said.

I led her to the living room and she sat on the edge of my couch. I wondered why she was here specifically.

"Can I meet your mother?" she asked suddenly that I was startled.

"Of course," I knew what she was here for. Now I was just wondering what she would say to my mother to explain my absences and strange disappearances.

I went into the backyard where I saw my mom working on the garden. It was Saturday so she had the day off.

"Hey mom?" I called from the back porch.

She looked up and said, "Yea?"

"There's someone here to see you." I said.

She didn't ask me who it was but she removed her thick gloves and sun hat. She came through the door chugging water from a water bottle. Then she followed me into the living room.

Trudy had gotten up as we arrived. My mom looked surprised but shook her hand. She didn't know the woman.

To my surprise Trudy said, "I am Hally Kats, you must be Mrs. Finn." She made up a name for my mom's sake. She was very good at it too. She never once glanced my way to tell me silently not to say anything. She just smiled pleasantly at my mom.

"Yes, I am." Mom said. "Do I know you?" I almost left but I was so interested as to what happened next.

"No, Jennie but you will know me very well." This was disturbing and ominous but my Mom just stared at her face with a blank look. Trudy looked at my mom intently with a different look in her eyes. She lowered her eyebrows and concentrated intently on my mothers. Slowly, her eyes changed from deep chestnut brown to purple. They were actually deep lavender which seemed to swim. I looked away quickly.

"Okay," she said.

"That's right. Now what do you know about ghosts?" she asked my vacant mom.

"Nothing," she said.

"If Beatrice knew about ghosts what would you say?" she asked.

"Nothing," Mom said again.

"If Beatrice were to leave to help a ghost what would you do?" She asked yet another question.

"Nothing," she said.

"Would you ask her where she was going if she did?" she asked.

"No."

"What if Beatrice needs to be alone for a while?"

"I would let her."

"So, if Beatrice says 'Mom this is secret stuff' you will leave her?"

"Yes." She said.

"Okay. Wake up." She smiled as my mom blinked and shook her head.

"No, you don't know me, but I think we could be good friends." She said and smiled at my mom. She smiled back and looked at me.

"Did you meet Hally?" she asked me. This was amazing Trudy was some kind of hypnotist. I wondered how it worked.

"Yea, mom, I met her." I answered.

Trudy intervened and said, "Beatrice, why don't you ask your mom to give us some privacy?" She suggested.

I suddenly got what 'Mom this is secret stuff' meant.

"Mom this is secret stuff," I said and looked at her.

"Of course," she didn't even blink and she went back to the garden to do more gardening.

I looked at Trudy in awe.

"What are you?" I asked.

"I am one of the Mind Controllers. I work for HSC," she replied.

_Whoa_. "So if I say _that_ my mom will just leave me alone and not remember why she asked me why I was leaving?" I asked her.

"Yes. She will act normal though. The blank cheerful look is just when you say the – magic words." She said the last two words with a funny smile.

"Okay. Perfect." I said

"To return her to normal say 'I'm done, mom'. If there is any trouble than call this card and ask for me. I am your assigned adviser." She said and handed me a purple card with white, even print.

"Right, um, if you don't mind my asking, how many people do you advise?"

"Not at all, I advise about ten people, five mermaids and five shifters." She said simply.

_Mermaids? Shifters?_ I decided not to ask, I would ask Francine later.

"Okay, then. Thanks for your help and I'll be sure to give you a call if there are any problems."

"No problem, it's my job," she said and smiled a happy smile. "I'll just see myself out." She said and got up and left.

I should have known that if there were ghosts and seers there must have been _other_ things that had a magical twist.

I thought of all the things magical that have ever entered fairytale books and movies. Fairies, werewolves, shape-shifters, mermaids, vampires, demons, goblins, dwarf, hypnotists, telepaths, Psychics, ghosts, seers, and witches were all part of the secret society that _I_ was now a part of. I couldn't think of any other magical creatures but I was sure there were probably some that I had no idea about.

I felt the need to sit down so I did. It was all so very overwhelming. Everything that has ever been made up and told as tall tales, everything that has ever been made into fairytales, and everything that has ever been _unreal_. It's all real.

I had to wake myself up. I slapped myself on the cheek lightly. I should have done it harder. "Beatrice, you are a part of this, now. Get a hold of yourself." And I suddenly felt much better.

I began getting myself mentally prepared for what would be happening in the next few hours. I was to return to Francine's shop. There, I would begin my training. I could only imagine what that meant.

I had a pretty good idea what my training would be like. I had to stop trying to fool myself. I would be dealing with the supernatural like Gigi. That gave my stomach a little lurch at remembering her grotesque appearance.

Mom came in and I told her that I was going to be leaving. She asked why and I told her it was secret stuff. She smiled and said okay.

So I drove to the all too familiar shop with Francine's Supernatural Finds stamped on the door.

It seemed silly now that I knew it was just a very well played out façade to cover up Francine's true identity. I'm sure that if some person tried very hard that they could find out very easily that there was something – _different_ about Francine. Actually, something very illegal. All they really had to do was interview a few people and they might tell that Francine went by the name of Caroline Hopper. That she goes door to door looking for new lost and troubled souls to collect and help. Though, they couldn't find that part out until they directly confronted Francine and even then she could deny everything and call the HSC to come out and hypnotize some people. I shivered.

I walked into the shop and called out, "Francine?!"

Out walked Gigi and I wondered why she was still here, I asked her so.

"Well, I work for the HSC, don't you know." She said.

"But you're a ghost?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. I am very, very dead." She said 'dead' like I would say 'glad' or 'angry'; like it was an emotion.

"So they are able to keep you out of the afterlife, how?" I asked.

"There are many ghosts and other sups that are kept because of their – useful qualities. You don't _have_ to move on," she said.

"Oh, and you are one of them. Aren't you – dissatisfied with your afterlife? You know, don't you want to move on?" I had trouble searching for the right words to frame my sentences. That's what the effect of being around a dead girl did to you.

"I am _very _satisfied – being with Francine is very rewarding." She said with an air of closing. The subject was closed off.

"Where is Francine?" I asked to change the subject.

"She went to do errands; she wasn't expecting you for another fifteen minutes." She said glancing at the clock. I tried not to look at her lip. It still sent a wave of nausea over me.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I said.

"No, no. Don't be, were _dying_ to have you." She roared with laughter at her joke. It would take a while to get used to Gigi. She walked off into the back room and I followed.

I smiled politely and she just kept laughing.

"Gigi?" Called a voice, probably Francine's.

"Oh, yes! Were in here!" Gigi yelled back her laughter slowly dying. I wondered if regulars could hear the ghosts. If they couldn't see them than why wouldn't they be able to hear them? Something told me that some of the ghostly wails that countless people have cowered under they're covers from in the night are _actually_ the real thing.

Francine walked in carrying two brown shopping bags under her arms. "I hope you haven't been waiting long." She looked at me.

"Nope. I've only been waiting five minutes or so." I answered.

"All right let's get started. No time to waste." She turned and left the small back room. Then she came back into the room with a man trailing behind her.

He was five foot ten maybe six feet tall and he was wearing blue jeans and a faded black rolling stones t-shirt. He had black hair that he had clipped up by his ears. I could tell he was a ghost but I couldn't tell how he died which I hoped was a good thing. Then he turned slightly to sit down and saw his killer's method. Yes, his _killer_.

He had a short handled utility knife stuck squarely in between his shoulder blades. It went right through the t-shirt. I couldn't see any blood and the knife didn't come out his other side so I expected the knife was short.

He looked at me and when I looked back he smiled at me.

"I guess you are able to see me then aren't you." He said in my direction.

"Yea, I can see you." I said.

"We should get started." Francine said.

"This is Paul." She said to me, and I supposed, to Gigi.

I nodded and she said, "Paul, this is Gigi and Beatrice."

"Pleased to meet you." He said. "What are we going to do?"

"I believe that's up to you," Francine said to Paul.

"I'm not sure what I need." He said. He sounded a little distressed.

I somehow knew what to do. "What happened? I mean, how did you – you know?" I looked at him and he seemed to comply. Francine looked appalled; I don't think she was expecting me to catch on so quickly.

"I am – was – the owner of a club called Reed's." I was earning the right kind of respect and he smiled at me appreciatively.

He continued, "I'm also the bouncer and there was a rowdy guy who wasn't treating my waitresses very nicely. So I kicked him out. He put up a little fit but he left." He paused, probably to dramatize the story but I didn't catch one whiff of insincerity in his voice.

"After I closed up I was going through the back door to put the garbage out and go home. The guy that I kicked out was there with this damned knife!" He pointed behind himself and I knew he meant the one in his back. He was really enjoying telling me his story; _us_ his story, I reminded myself.

"Then what happened?" I asked him. Francine still looked appalled and Gigi looked just a little surprised but interested at the same time.

"I'm not sure," he said. "_Something_ happened and I knew I had to do something. I just felt like I _had_ to do something. The only thing was that I couldn't tell what it was and I was so confused that everyone ignored me when I was asking for help. I realized they couldn't see me or hear me. Then Francine," he jerked a thumb at her general direction, "talked to me and asked me to come back with her." I could tell there was much more to have to speak about.

"So, you came back here. And you can't tell what you need to do." These weren't questions but he jerked his head in agreement.

I thought about what Francine told me about locking up the troubled's houses. Maybe he needed to lock up the club? Or maybe his car wasn't locked.

"Did you make your bed?" I asked shrugging. I was serious but I got a look of disapproval from Francine.

He thought for a moment then said, "If I'm here for a reason..." He broke off and then answered my question, "I have never cared in my life if the bed was made."

"That's not a very good reason anyway. Look," I cast my eyes around and leaned forward. "You must have some deep inner turmoil about something."

He thought, "I never liked Patti, the waitress that worked for me." We were getting nowhere. I decided to switch on the inner shrink in me. I closed my eyes and ignored the stares I felt on the back of my eyelids.

_What do people worry about?_ _Your daddy never loved you? _No way. _You were abused?_ Nope. _Never let go of your pet Max? _Nada. _Grandma left Buddy the estate and forgot you?_ Hardly. _You never told anyone you were gay?_ Couldn't be. _You were an alcoholic?_ Never.

My eyes were still closed and I felt a very powerful rush come over me. It was a strange sensation, like cold water washed over my body and then a bucket of hot water straight after. Then my brain popped out an idea and it was suddenly the answer.

The words came out rushed and I had no idea where they came from, "You were dealing drugs. The guy was making you and if you didn't he would expose you for something but it wasn't true. I can't tell – who or why."I searched for two seconds and got nothing so I moved on.

"You weren't cut out to be a dealer but you went ahead because you knew if it got out your club would suffer. The men and women you sold to were pathetic. They were addicted and when they didn't have enough money you let them pay short."

I paused as a little bit more of the story came to me. I crinkled my still-closed eyes in concentration. "Guilty," I blurted suddenly. "Feeling guilty." I couldn't get any more from Paul.

I let my eyes open after I finished talking. Everyone was staring at my with the strangest expression on they're faces. I expected Paul to look surprised and intrigued but not both Francine and Gigi too.

"What? I can't get anymore." I said by way of explaining my sudden stop in the flow of words.

Francine murmured an anxious word to Gigi and Gigi replied just as anxiously. Then they both looked at me.

"You were just channeling." Francine said which caught me by surprise. I looked at her quizzically.

"I was?"

"I have never," she looked down at her shoes. "_I_ can't even do that Beatrice."

I was startled. If Francine couldn't do it then–

"I did well then?" I said modestly.

She nodded jealously_. Wait just a minute! How do I know this? And why is she?_

I continued to look at her face ignoring the impulse to call her out on her jealousy. Now she just looked old and concerned. I chided myself for even thinking bad of my mentor. I was imagining things—

I turned my attention to Paul, "What are you guilty about?" I asked him.

He looked dazed. I wonder if he knew he had felt guilty.

Turns out he did know, "I felt bad that I was giving these people fuel for their addiction. I never got caught but I wish I had. I – wanted to help them but didn't know how. I knew I could help them if I stopped giving them the drugs that would help just a little."

I interrupted him, "But they would get their drugs elsewhere. Then they would have to pay more and one of them," I stopped and closed my eyes again.

_He was his friend and he was so close to helping him out of the drugs. He let him down by dying. The guy doesn't have anyone else._

"It's okay," I got up to sit next to him. "You did all you could and I'm sure he thanks you for it."

"No, no. No one knew that Paul the bar owner sold the people drugs because he had to. And no one knew that Paul helped them through the rough patches, too." He put his head in his hands.

"They will find the drugs in my house and everyone will know the bad Paul. Not the Paul who wanted to stop selling the drugs but couldn't."

I thought of what I could do. Paul wanted to be remembered as the good guy not the bad. No doubt they would think he was using the drugs too. _How could I show his friends and family that he wasn't the person they think he was?_

"When is your funeral?" I asked him.

He looked at me surprised, "Tomorrow, why?"

"I'll have to pull out my black clothes." I said absently ignoring the question. "Where's he staying?" I asked just as absently.

They gaped and I was getting pretty annoyed with that. I snapped my fingers, "Come on!"

They blinked and in a kind of dazed voice Gigi said, "He's yours."

"Okay, what's the deal here?" I asked when they began murmuring quietly to each other.

Francine jerked her head up as if she just noticed I was here. I looked at her waiting for an answer. She glanced at Gigi, "you have a strong line. It's the only answer. But your mother and father have nothing to do with it so I wonder…"

She trailed off leaving me to imagine what the sentence might have been finished to say. _Adopted? Not the right father?_ My brain faltered at the thought. I looked at my shoes and shrugged.

"Guess we'll never know," I said sourly and got up to leave.

"Beatrice," Francine said at the door way to the back room. I had turned around to gesture to Paul to come along after I had walked toward the doorway where she stood.

I searched her slightly wrinkled face and presumed leading Paul out the front door to let him in my car.

I wasn't mad at Francine and she had to know that. My lineage was suddenly a big deal. _If I took a blood test would it match? _I gripped the steering wheel with anger for not being told my true nature. My Mom and Dad had never mentioned an adoption. I looked like them and I had the quirks that they sprouted.

My Mom wouldn't have been unfaithful to her newlywed hubby, I was sure. They were deeply in love when they had me. It was the years that followed that ruined they're relationship. The next five years following.

I turned the corner onto our long driveway a little sharply and gripped the steering wheel tighter. The anger wouldn't subside.

I looked at my companion and felt stupid for what I would have to do tomorrow. He was years older than me, maybe by no more than five years.

I brushed aside all other feelings and let the reserve for Paul loose. I smiled a weak version of my happy one and asked him when he had died.

"Last night," he told me after I asked. He didn't seem offended by my asking.

I wasn't sure if I should be sad or pitiful, sympathetic, or if I should just ignore it altogether. If I had died and this was happening to me I would want my helpers to be nice. I would want them to be sympathetic but I wouldn't want them to say that they were sorry because that wouldn't be true. They wouldn't be sorry.

So I said, "I know how it feels for you – I mean – I don't know how it is to be dead but – "

"What then?" I could tell I was getting on those 'pitiful' grounds and then I would lose the respect.

"I know how it feels to be alone." I told him with every ounce of sincerity in my voice.

He searched my face, looking for something that I couldn't even imagine. He looked at the ground while he thought then he looked at my face with intense eyes that somehow were still flat, dead and grey.

"You know I don't think I have ever met someone as nice as you even in my former life." He said this with the most sincerity I knew it firsthand. No one had ever complimented on me being nice.

I flushed and dismissed the compliment, "No one has ever told me that I was the nicest person they've ever met." I said with a little shrug.

"That's messed up. Even more messed up than me." He said and he laughed.

"Come on my Mom might see us and think I'm schizophrenic." I said my spirits a little lifted.

"I haven't been able to touch anything." He said grimly as I led him us the stairs.

"Hey, how old are you?" he asked.

"Seventeen," I answered.

"That's funny; I could have sworn you were more in your twenties." He said with a spectacle glance.

"You sure you aren't just –? You look young, don't get me wrong; but –." I thought for a moment that he might be putting the moves on me but then I though, how ridiculous it would be for this ghost to put the moves on me – than again…

"Are you putting the moves on me?" I asked him with a conniving smile. He looked embarrassed and looked at the floor. Holy cow! He was! This ghost in his twenties – maybe – was putting the moves on me!

"How old are _you_?" I asked.

"Twenty-two," he said.

"Well, you are just a little old for me," I said, pleased with myself. "Plus you are a little dead!" This sounded like a Gigi joke but I was warming up to the humor and we laughed together.

"I know but I'm just confused with how much older you seem. I'm sorry." And he looked at me with a definite apology in his eyes.

"And thank you, not only for helping me but for being so nice to me." He said.

"It's no problem," I said, "it's better than being a crab." And I smiled at him. I'm sure we probably had a little moment of understanding right then and there. Where he knew what I meant and I knew exactly what he meant.

Then the moment was gone and I had to find out what to say for tomorrow.

As if he spoke my mind he asked, "What's your plan for my funeral?"

I thought it was kind of weird that the guy had shown an interest in me since no guys like me let alone a guy _older_ than me. I didn't think it was creepy though I could tell his genuine attitude was so very sincere that I didn't worry one bit. I thought that it was very strange that I had this power to detect lies on ghosts just like I had on regulars.

The thing was I knew this was to my acute advantage. "How old do you think I look?" I asked ignoring the question without a blink. We were in my room and he was sitting in the chair in the corner and I was on the bed.

I turned m face side to side and fluffed my hair a little. He laughed, "Maybe – nineteen, twenty."

"Really?" I asked.

He nodded. It went on like that the rest of the evening while I planned my speech for the next day, chatted with Paul and with my Mom. I went to sleep feeling absolutely ready.

Paul doesn't sleep it turns out. This made me wonder just how much human was left of Paul. Maybe on the inside he was only hanging to a shred of his old self.

Friday, August 7.

While we drove to his funeral the next day we were silent. He didn't ask me again what my plan was and I didn't mention where we were going.

I spotted the get-together in the cemetery.

I didn't spend time looking around or even carding the faces around me. I simply stood on the outskirts of the ceremony without emotion. When the priest called out if anyone would like to say a few words I let the others go ahead of me.

When the people had finished saying they're last words about Paul I volunteered to say a few words myself.

I walked up to the podium with my black skirt billowing. Somehow it managed to be a cool day in the midst of all the other scorching August-heated days. I glanced at my watch purposefully. _Two o'clock_. Then glanced at the people's faces for the first time. After a sweeping glance, I began.

"Paul was a man of many personalities. He was straight-forward, smart, stupid," I raised a hand to show that I meant about the drugs. I knew they would understand if I made the significant pause. I noticed the murmur ringing around the grey people asking who I was but I ignored it.

"He was also a very loving and caring person." I let that sink in and when they realized what I meant there was another murmur around the group.

Posing as Paul's girlfriend was easy. I knew he was single and I knew that I looked old enough. It didn't matter much anyway. They wouldn't notice me if they met me on the street.

The black skirt went with the long, black, hooded coat that I had wrapped around me and my face tightly. The gray day made white skin look pale and frosty when, in reality, I was tan from the summer sun. My expression was sad and cast downward when I am usually a very happy and upbeat person.

No. They wouldn't notice me ever again. I continued, "He did things that he was not proud of. He did things he is ashamed of right to the grave." This was absolutely true.

"But Paul did the things he had to. Believe me when I say that Paul never wanted to do the horrible things he did. He was also a caring person and you should remember him to be just that. He helped the people as much as he hurt them. He saved a man from his own self. Remember Paul for that, remember him for the good he did."

I walked away from the small podium and strode quickly from the group of people to a parking lot where I hoped no one would try to stop me. As I walked I heard the group clap vehemently and the murmurs spread across once again. I kept my gaze down and I kept my walk brisk.

Paul followed me to the truck and he was smiling.

"Thanks," he said simply and I shed the gloomy demeanor to smile back.

"Don't mention it."

"Now what?" He asked.

"We go back to Francine's and ask for more instructions." I shrugged. So we drove.

While we drove Paul was looking fainter and fainter. I understood what was going to happen now. We got out of the truck.

"Goodbye Paul." I said.

He lurched forward to give me a hug and he went right through, which knocked the breath out of me. He turned around and tried to hug me slower this time. It worked but it was like hugging a cold sheet which could collapse at any moment.

"Thank you Triss." He said and he looked pretty happy which made me feel really good.

"I'll never forget you." I said.

"I will try my hardest not to forget you. I _am_ dead after all." He said.

I punched his shoulder lightly but it went through. I laughed, "Don't you say that."

He just smiled and said thank you again. He was fading fast now. He looked like a dirty window. He waved and then he was just a smudge against the shops door. I could barely see him anymore then I couldn't see him at all. He was gone.

I went into the shop all smiles and told Francine my story.

"You did a really good job." She said, beaming.

"I would really like to go home now," I said. It was now four o'clock. I guess mom wouldn't be expecting me but it was nice to think so.

I really wanted to chat with Francine about the life of a Seer, the life of a ghost and hypnotists'. I wanted to ask her about shifters and mermaids. I especially wanted to ask her about the boy in the red jacket. I had noticed with a little bit of sadness that he hadn't been showing himself in any way for the past two or three days.

I knew the reason he was sticking to my house was because he was drawn to my powers and I was pretty sure it was my mission to help him.

I went home with all these thoughts. I had dinner with a normal mom and slept normal sleep. Until I heard a clicking noise.

Exception

Saturday, August 8.

I sat strait up in bed and looked around. I turned on the lamp on the bedside table trying to get a better look around the room. I surveyed the area. Nothing.

I looked at the clock before I went out into the hall. It was five o'clock in the morning. Since I was upstairs I turned on the hall light. I surveyed this room. Nothing.

So I walked carefully down the stairs and past the hall where my mother slept. Thank the Earth Molly left yesterday morning. I went into the living room and turned on a small lamp that I would hope wouldn't cause too much light. I spun around to survey this area. Nothing.

I was beginning to think maybe he would be hiding in one of the empty bedrooms but then I thought that the kitchen would be ridiculous. I went in the kitchen and I couldn't see a thing, of course. I turned on the light and looked in the direction of the table.

To my dismay, no one was in the room. I turned out the light and trudged slowly back to the living room where I also turned out the light. Then I sauntered up the stairs and turned out that light. I went into my room to try to get back to sleep but I knew I probably wouldn't be able to.

I shut the door behind me and walked toward my bed. I was about to yank the covers back when I jumped about a foot and gasped. The boy in the red jacket was sitting on my bed.

He was looking the same as ever; ghostly white, red jacket, blue jeans – and surprisingly – barefoot. He looked shy and a little apologetic.

"Oh, gosh you scared me." I said finally.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." He said quickly and he got up and stumbled forward where he fell right through me. The air around him crackled and I wondered why the same thing didn't happen with Paul and me.

I gasped and said, "Calm down, it's okay." I turned around and lightly put my hand on his arm and led him back to sit on the edge of my bed. Touching a ghost was still a very peculiar motion and I think I was getting used to it. He shuddered when I touched him probably because of the strange spark that happened when we touched.

"I just was waiting for you to come back in your room. I knew I should have waited in the living room or the maybe the kitchen but stupid me – "He began to beat his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"Sh," I interrupted him. "I told you, it's okay."

His ghostly breathing seemed to slow down and his eyes and body relaxed.

"What's your name?" I asked him. Now it was my turn.

"Tristen Marshall." He said and his voice even sent sparks to my fingertips. I was beginning to worry about the sensation.

"All right Tristen. What happened?" I was touching his arm still.

"I – "he faltered.

"It's okay; you're going to have to trust me." I said and I gave him a reassuring smile.

He took a deep breath, "It was last Sunday and I was in my house alone after I came back from my friend's house when I – something happened and my head hurt and I couldn't see anymore and then I was here. Something happened and I was standing on your doorstep." I hugged him which made the tingle go down to my toes.

"I need to know what else happened." I told him, trying to ignore it.

"Then I went over to the trailer because no one was home here. The guy who lived there completely ignored me, so I came back here and waited on the doorstep. You and your mom came walking down the drive and I kept yelling and yelling but I couldn't get any of your attentions. So I went in the house with you, completely confused." He paused and took a deep breath.

"I never slept. And I didn't know why I was here but I just couldn't leave. It was like an invisible rope keeping me in. Then," his face went dark and his eyes narrowed, "that guy came to your house and tried to break in. I didn't know what to do. I screamed and screamed and yelled at the guy and you. You never heard him break the window. Then I found out that if I concentrated really hard that I could make a noise. You heard it and the man heard it too and he ran away." He looked at me with pride in his eyes.

"Wow," was all I could say.

"And then," he continued. I could tell he was now enjoying himself, "I somehow got in your head and in your dream. It was your dream but I was in it. I wanted you to see me so bad. I followed you everywhere; I woke you up when people came home. Then I followed you out into the woods and you kept looking around but you never saw me. I was frustrated so I just went ahead of you. I was so mad I just kept walking when you called. I just kept walking – "he faltered and put his hands in his face.

"It's okay." I said patting him on the back.

"No. I blew it. I blew the chance to meet you and when we came to the clearing the sun was too bright for you to see me. It was a mistake. I'm –"

"Don't say you're sorry," I stopped him right there, "Thank you. Thank you for saving me and helping me when you can."

"Did you ever see Francine?" I asked him.

"The older lady? I saw her and she saw me. I tried to follow but I couldn't leave with the rope attached." He said.

"That –I started to say but he interrupted me this time.

"Wait. Then the rope got weaker, after I was frustrated, I mean. So I left. Somehow I ended up at the hospital. Somehow I ended up in room four-oh-nine. It was Thursday." He said. I didn't want to interrupt him so I let him go on.

"I saw me." he whispered. "I saw myself with tubes and masks and IVs attached to me. I read the chart and it said I had a comma. A comma cause by a blow to the head or a fall." I was horrified.

"Then I came back here. I came back here last night and you were so tired. I didn't bug you. I didn't want to talk to you with your mom around so I woke you up just now. I'm sorry about that too. I, hey…" I was so horrified by his story and he had just noticed my face.

I wiped my eyes, "don't be sorry. I _wanted_ to meet you. It's my job to help you." It was such bad timing.

I got here when he did and I wasn't able to see him until two days later. Then Molly came here. Then he left and right before I was able to know what I had to do for him.

"It was just bad timing," I said and gave him a watery smile.

Then I proceeded to tell him all about Francine and Gigi and Paul. I explained my job and the supernatural world. He nodded and smiled especially when I told Gigi's jokes.

"Wow." He said when I was finished.

"I'll take you to meet everyone tomorrow." I said.

"But, Beatrice, I'm not dead I'm in a comma." He said.

My smile faded. I contemplated that for a moment then said, "We'll ask Francine and Gigi about it tomorrow." I said my smile was gone though. "Actually, today, it's already seven."

"Hey, before we get ready to go let's try something." I said when he started to get up.

He sat back down and waited. I closed my eyes and 'listened'.

I got pictures of… _Me_.

My eyes flew open. "What?" He asked.

"Nothing," I was confused that it didn't work right. Maybe–

My thought trailed off because I had no idea what it might mean.

"I'll go wait downstairs for you to get dressed." He said gallantly and strode out the doorway.

I pulled on a flowing shirt made with some swishy fabric. It was red and black and other pretty variations of those two colors and it was sleeveless. I got it at a vintage clothing store and it was my favorite shirt. I chose to wear it because I suspected that I might be doing work.

Jeans and black ballet flats completed my 'work outfit'. I brushed my hair and teeth I even left my hair down. Then I wondered why I was dressing up. I asked myself but couldn't come up with a really good answer besides that I was going to 'work' so I went downstairs.

Mom was up and Tristen was sitting next to her, invisible. I smiled at him and my mom. He looked me up and down and he opened his eyes wide. I suddenly knew the real reason for my dressing up. I had subconsciously wanted to impress the ghost. I chided myself but it was no use crying over spilled milk.

"Hey Hun, where are going all dressed up at seven A.M?" She was wearing a pink bathrobe and slippers and she was reading the newspaper.

"I'm just going out." I said I was prepared to use the hypnotist's trick.

"All right, where are you going?" she asked.

I sighed, I didn't want to have to do this, "Mom this is secret stuff."

"Mhm." She answered and she went back to reading the newspaper.

I walked to the kitchen to call Francine and see if her shop was open. Gigi answered and just then mom walked in as I was saying hello.

She snatched the phone out of my hand and said, "Are you Triss's boyfriend?" I tried to get the phone back and I could hear a low murmur on the other end.

"Mom give me the phone back it's not my boyfriend," I said and groped for the phone. When I swiped for it her cheek bumped the speakerphone button. I froze. Tristen did to; he was standing in the doorway.

"Beatrice? Who the heck picked up the phone? This is Gigi! Hey were waiting for you!" Gigi was saying.

Tristen was looking with interest at the phone. Mom was looking at the phone like it was crazy. I looked at my mom waiting for the flood of questions.

"They hung up!" she said, apparently she was expecting a male voice.

"Mom this is secret stuff!" I yelled. She looked at me then smiled and walked off. I breathed a sigh of relief. I forgot that regulars couldn't hear ghosts. Then I thought about how I had heard Tristen before my powers were known because he had tried _very_ hard to make a peep.

"Whoa." Tristen looked at the phone.

"Sorry Gigi." I said after I had fixed the phone back to handset.

"Quite all right," she said, "who was that?"

"My mom."

"Well, well. The HSC did a good job." I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yea. Listen, I have someone with me if you know what I mean." I said.

In the background I heard Francine saying, "Tell her that we don't have anyone today but she should still come over." It was good that Francine wasn't mad about me leaving.

"I heard that. But tell her I'm bringing someone," I said.

"She's bringing someone Francine," Gigi said.

"All right," Francine said.

"See you in a few," I said.

Gigi hung up and I followed.

"Let's go." I said to Tristen.

We drove to Francine's and Tristen looked out the window the whole time. I could feel the static between us. When we got there he looked around with interest.

"Hi," Gigi said to me, "Who's this?"

"This," I pointed to him, "is Tristen."

Francine was standing off to the side looking on with interest. "Is this the funny one I saw at your house?" she asked.

"You know, he's not really that funny," I answered and she laughed.

"You must be Francine," Tristen said. "And you must be Gigi," he looked at the people as he said they're names. They nodded in return.

Francine turned her attention to me, "What's the story?"

"He came the day I moved here and I didn't see him until Tuesday. Then he left because he was frustrated." Francine looked confused at the last sentence.

"What about the strong tie that is between you?" She asked.

"I don't know. He was frustrated and he wanted to leave so he did." she still looked puzzled but it was the only explanation we had.

"Then," I continued his story, "and this is the weird part, he ended up at the hospital looking in on himself. His chart said he had a comma."

"What!?" Gigi exclaimed.

"What ties?" Tristen asked me.

"That's unheard of." Francine said with wonderment.

I was overwhelmed with information, feelings and exclaiming voices. I sat down in a little chair and breathed in and out. They all looked at me waiting for answers. I didn't know how to answer Gigi or Tristen so I answered Francine.

"What do you mean unheard of?" I asked her.

"I have never heard of it, Gigi has never heard of it. There are things that are not known in our world even after years and years of studying. This is rare but we can call around and make sure." Francine said. She got out and old book and began looking through it, it was probably her address book. I giggled at the thought.

Tristen looked at me when I did and said, "What's funny about this? I'm not only a ghost but a ghost that still has a live body! And what are these ties she's talking about!?" A flare of anger rose up inside me. He had no right to be angry with me.

"Listen here," I said and took three steps to jab a finger at his chest. It went right through and he winced and backed up a step. I ignored the sparks that flew. "I know no more than you about this and probably more worried than you are. We've got hell of a bigger problem than you do you – you – _half_ _dead kid_!" I jabbed him about three more times in the course of this rant and every one shocked my fingertip.

He looked hurt. _Good_, I thought, _serves him right_. I noticed that everyone else was frozen and looking at us.

"What are you looking at?!" I screeched and walked into the back room to sit on the couch.

I think that in better circumstances I would have comforted Tristen. In better circumstances I wouldn't have blown up on everyone like that. It was the combination of having to deceive my parents, the stress of taking care of so many people – ghosts, not having anyone to talk to about it, and having so much weight put on my shoulders in such a very short amount of time. I wouldn't have _dreamed _this world could be real.

While I brooded I heard the murmur of voices in the other room I thought I heard 'overreaction', 'apologize', and 'feel horrible'. Then I suddenly heard an outbreak of a voice that was Tristen's, "That's it!"

He stormed into the room with Gigi trailing behind but she stopped in the doorway, threw me a look then spun on her heel. I vaguely hoped it was on her good foot.

He sat on the couch next to me and avoided my eyes, "I'm sorry." In the dim light I could see his profile and when he spoke the words sparkled.

"I'm sorry," I said. "We both blew up on each other."

"Do you really not know anything about this?"

"No."

At this finality he looked at the ground, "I'm a double freak!"

I didn't know what to say. In that since, the since that ghosts were 'freaks' and I was a 'freak', I suppose he _was_ a double freak.

"Francine is calling weird people all around who-knows-where and Gigi was trying to keep me out of here. She said you needed to be alone but I had to say something. Look, if you need to be – "

"No. I'm fine. I just had a moment that's all." I said.

"You know, it sucks having to keep all this from my mom. And Calvin! I haven't even talked to him in two weeks! He won't ever know! It feels wrong to have to keep my job away from him and mom." I said.

"Why don't you tell her?"

I thought this over. It had never crossed my mind, I didn't know if it would really make a difference. Then Francine's grim words came back to me '_It is not a joke. And if my inkling is not correct than I am a dead woman'. _

"I'd be killed. And so would she."

"Oh," he said. And for the first time _he_ hugged _me_, a feat almost impossible. I shivered all over when he did and I could tell he was too.

"What is it like for you?" I asked him. He knew what I was talking about.

"Hm. Like trying to hug a warm pudding. It's like it will squish if you don't be careful. And as for the sparks… You?"

"Like trying to hug a cold sheet that could collapse at any moment. The sparks are weird." I smiled at him.

He was suddenly closer that I thought. I noticed his light brown hair as it crackled next to mine —I noticed through his ghostly haze. His shoulder was brushing mine and it popped. His face was inches from my hair I could swear I saw him inhale. Right when I was going to get up he leaned away a little and said, "Let's figure out what's going on out there."

"Y—yea." I stuttered and he looked down at the floor while he tried to hide his smile.

Was the first boy I liked not even possibly a human? I never laid eyes on anyone at school and I have never found anyone attractive _anywhere_ I went. _Was I falling for a ghost? What the hell is my problem?!_

We walked out into the room where Francine was pacing with the wall phone, the cord wrapped around a table and her ankles. Gigi was looking at this display with concern. We waited for Francine to get off the phone.

The last few lines that I caught of her conversation were, "Are you positive?" Pause, "Could you?" Pause, "that would help immensely." Pause, "no! I mean, no. they don't need to be involved." Pause, "Yes. Thank you." Pause, "Of course." Then she hung up.

She turned to us, "I've called five of the most involved seers in the world and they have got nothing. I asked all of them to call all the most involved that they know and then to, please, call back. Meanwhile, I will call the other seven I know."

"And none of these five have any idea?" I asked.

"No. For the person to be still alive and be in the supernatural state is very unheard of." She answered gravely.

Tristen looked at her then at me with a pained expression on his face then he turned and walked into the other room. I followed.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." I felt like I said this twenty times this morning but I wasn't sure if it was true anymore.

"No." He said. "I —need to be – alone for a while."

He was facing the other way but I could tell that he was crying. I wanted to comfort him but I knew that if I wanted to be alone, I really wanted to be alone. So I left and went to the other room back to the chanting Francine and the deadly glare of Gigi.

I tried to ignore everything but I felt a little sick. I wasn't sure if it was lack of breakfast or the overwhelming events, maybe it was both. For the time being the way to deal with my stress was to sit and do nothing. I felt useless but what else was there to do? I could hardly _clean_ the place.

It was lunchtime and I almost went to see if Tristen wanted a sandwich from across the street but then remembered that he didn't eat. I asked Francine if she wanted one between phone calls and she said no. I made a mental note to do something really significant for Francine to show her how appreciative I was.

After I mowed my sandwich without tasting it I went back to the shop and Francine was off the phone. Gigi was reading something from an ancient looking book intently.

I went into the back room to check on Tristen. He was sitting on the couch and he looked up when I came in. I went, sat next to him, and put my arm lightly on his shoulders.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay." He said

"I just wish – that – we could fix this."

"We'll figure it out eventually." I answered.

Just then we heard a loud crash and Gigi yelling, "Aha!"

We ran into the front room to see Francine standing next to Gigi with the ancient book on a high table and using her finger to trace the words. The book must have fallen off of her lap as she stood up. We went up behind her to see what she was reading.

"It's a log," Gigi said. "Past seers put their experiences into the book. I was looking for something that might be related to Tristen's problem."

"Did you find anything?!" I exclaimed.

"Indeed." And she gave me a wide toothy smile.

I turned to Tristen, held his arms and began jumping up and down. I was grasping at mist, mist that shocked my palms.

He gasped and I turned to Gigi with my excitement still on peak.

"What's the info?" I asked.

"There is an entry for ten years ago. It talks about a strange incident where a ghost's unfinished business was that he wasn't dead yet. The man was on life support and he asked the seer to go to the hospital and pull the plug. He didn't want to live." She shrugged.

"So–" I could see that this got us nearly nowhere.

"This is good news!" She said excitedly. "We know at least that this is his unfinished business. Who knows what we'll do about the other part of the entry–" she trailed off.

I wanted to cry and I looked at Tristen; he looked the same. As I watched he actually started to.

We were deep in the supernatural belly with an inexperienced seer, an old woman, a ghost with a broken leg, and a live ghost. As Terry the Tiger would say it: _Grrrreaat!_

Magical Phenomenon

Sunday, August 9.

"What are you going to do today?" My mom asked me in the morning. Tristen was sitting at the table with us. After the drive home last night I didn't want him to be in my house any longer but then again, I didn't want him to leave.

He was like a moping child who didn't get they're way. I guess that is exactly what Tristen's situation was. He wanted to get back to his old life and instead he was stuck with a distant body and no apparent way back to his original.

His misery was seeping into my brain. That night I had dreams about running to the hospital and trying to get my old self back. I never reached myself. Of course, Tristen was the one who put the dreams in my head.

This triggered a thought. _Were regular ghost able to get in peoples' dreams? Were regular ghosts able to have a strong bond to they're seer?_ I couldn't help thinking it wasn't normal and that this whole thing would make some sick book of history eventually.

I wouldn't rejoice at the prospect. I was attached to Tristen. Not only did I have some sort of motherly jibe with him, but I felt his pain and I felt his misery with him. Just seeing his face made my stomach clench. I wanted to cry for him.

When these thoughts crossed my mind the next thought that always followed was the thought that I had never felt this way for anyone. Not even my own father or mother. I never had to share the heartache with someone. I didn't know what to do about it but I thought that if Tristen left I would go back to normal and the heartache would go away.

I had another sick feeling that if he went away it wouldn't get better.

"Don't know," was all I said. I was dead tired and I had dark circles under my eyes.

"You don't look so good. You feel okay?" Her eyebrows pulled together. I glanced at Tristen and he looked guilty.

"Sorry," He said. For once I couldn't tell if he was telling the truth.

"It's all right," I said to both of them with a thick coat of sarcasm laid on.

"Sure?" She asked. Tristen just looked at the table, hiding his expression.

"Yep," I said with my best smile. She didn't look convinced.

"I have to go to work," she said. So she got up and got set to getting ready.

I went upstairs and Tristen followed. When I got in my room I turned to say that he would have to leave because I was going to attempt at getting myself presentable. When I did he was right behind me, his expression was pained, looking down at me with his arms at his sides.

To my astonishment, he pulled his arms around me and slowly and carefully hugged me. I hugged him back and we stood like that for a moment the sparks being ignored. I was getting used to it.

"I know it sounds stupid coming from me," he said into my hair. "But I know everything that happens from now on will be good and it will all be okay."

I pulled away from our hug and searched his face. All my angry emotions were gone and I only wanted to hug him again. I liked it _way_ too much for my own good.

"You really think so?" I asked him with skepticism.

"I really do." He said so reassuringly that I almost wondered why I was worried.

"I don't want you to go." I said so suddenly that I surprised myself.

"I don't want to either." He said and he brushed his lips on my cheek and strode out the door.

I touched the place where his lips had touched and it felt cold and tingly. I stared at the door where he had vanished for a minute or maybe five more, I don't know. I eventually went into the bathroom to deal with myself.

What was I supposed to do about the fact that I liked this boy so much that I would want him to stay away from being human again? I felt rotten and horrible and selfish. I wanted him to hit me and tell me that my idea was stupid and that he didn't like me at all. Instead Tristen had kissed me and agreed with me.

I went downstairs and decided it was a chat day. I would tell Francine everything and see what she thought. I trusted Francine with my secret.

I was a little nervous as I went through the motions of telling my mom I was leaving and getting in my truck. I was nervous because I felt like my thoughts were pasted on my forehead and Tristen could read them.

"What's the matter?" He asked while we were driving. Damn this connection we have.

"Hm? What? No, no I'm fine." I said and bit my lip. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him facing me with his whole torso turned. I couldn't see his expression. I was sure he was skeptical. My voice couldn't sound to 'fine'.

He didn't say another word as we drove the next ten minutes. When we arrived I said, "I really want to talk with Francine for a while in privet." He just nodded and tactfully stayed in the car.

"Francine?" I called out through the misty shop.

"Beatrice?" said a voice from the back room. I walked through the door and I could see that she had the huge ancient book propped in her lap.

"Hey," I said and she smiled.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I really need to talk to you," I said back.

"Okay," She put the book on the coffee table and took off her glasses. "Have a seat," and she patted the couch.

I sat and fiddled with the hem of my shirt while I thought about how I should begin. She waited patiently.

"There is a lot to tell about Tristen, his story" I began, she waited.

"First," I arranged all the events in my brain. "He makes a noise that saves me from an intruder. The intruder was a thief that we still haven't caught. He scared him away. You came that day," I clarified a little. She just sat expressionless.

"He makes the noise again the same day to warn me that someone was coming. I didn't know it was him but I was pretty freaked out. Than I have a dream about him," at this she crinkled her eyebrows.

"That's very advanced ghost activity, the noise and the dream entering. He must have very unusual power due to his unusual state. Please, go on." She said.

"Then, I walk out in our backyard on a trail to a waterfall and he just randomly shows up. He never turned around and when I got to the end of the trial after running to catch up with him, he wasn't there. I realized he was the one from my dream and I ran home."

She said, "This is when your powers show and he goes to the hospital."

I nodded and continued, "Than I get a dream where we have a conversation and something really strange happened."

She leaned forward. "Every time he spoke in the dream the air crackled. There was a thick static the whole time we spoke. Now every time we touch there is a huge rush of static. Plus, when – I met him I tried to channel and I couldn't read him. I got pictures instead. Pictures of me."

She looked appalled. What I was more hoping for was an answer to these strange events. Her expression changed after a minute and she got up and ran to the front room. "Stay here," she instructed.

I obeyed and she returned with yet another ancient book. She plopped it on the coffee table and began frantically flipping the pages. I figured this was the answer so I waited.

She stopped at a page and began reading. After a second or two of that she said, "Here is the entry. This book is a record of all history. It lists anything that has ever happened in the magical world."

I read it aloud, "December tenth year nineteen-sixty-nine: Sheryl Lowry, a woman happily married five years before runs into another man at the supermarket. When they touch each other a static electricity runs between them. Identified as a magical phenomenon."

"Uh huh, keep reading," she urged. She had a concerned face on and her urge wasn't exited. This worried me.

"May fifteenth year nineteen-seventy: Thomas Evergreen, a bachelor in his thirties meets a UPS worker at his door. As he takes the pen from her hand they have an electrical current running through them. Identified as a magical phenomenon."

"There's one more entry. It's going to explain everything." I didn't like the tone of her voice. It scared me; it was a warning, concerned.

Despite her voice I had to get my explanation. I had a feeling it would be something huge.

"January twenty-fifth year two-thousand: A family of six containing an eighteen year old girl is relocated to a town in Kansas. The girl, Emily Fairway, goes to school for two years in the town and goes to class everyday with a boy named Oliver Sicily. On the date provided the two had an encounter. They touched hands and a static electricity passed between them. Identified as a magical phenomenon. The investigation was later followed up on the date March Seventeenth year two-thousand-five. The two are married and have two children. They explain that they couldn't leave each other and that they had tried to before. The term accumulated for this particular magical phenomenon: Soulmate."

I gaped at the book. I turned to gape at Francine. I flipped madly to the back of the book to look for a glossary. I read the words to myself.

_Soulmate:_ _A magical phenomenon between two beings where the magic is so powerful the beings are attracted to each other inevitably, inseparably, and irrevocably. _

The single sentence sent a chill up my spine. It was an exited, longing, jittery, happy, scared, and angry shiver so packed with emotion I was frozen.

At the end of the sentence there was a few page numbers. I followed one of them and flipped to the section. I scanned and caught glimpses of the words _'Chosen few', 'Inseparable for an amount of time not able to be recorded', 'like puzzle pieces', _and '_humans or, otherwise, beings'. _

The word 'being' rung in my head like a bell. "This – this isn't what I wanted to tell you but," I started. "I was going to tell you that I liked Tristen. I was going to tell you that I was worried that it was a bad idea but I couldn't help it. I was going to ask you if what it meant."

"I could tell," she said which caught me off guard.

"How?" I asked.

"The way you looked at each other and when you two would touch I could tell something was going on. But Soulmates never came to mind. We'll have to add the account in the book."

"I knew that would eventually happen," I mumbled.

She laughed and said much more seriously, "How will we break it to Tristen?"

I jerked my head up to stare at her and said, "We aren't."

"But you read what it said; you can't leave each other, for now. That's why there is such a strong tie between you two."

I just stared at my hands. "I don't know how."

"Hm. I would ask Gigi but she's off to HSC-Washington."

"Maybe – I think I have an idea," I said. "I won't need your help." I stood up to leave.

"All right," she answered and stood up to show me to the door.

Everything that has happened between us has happened because we are Soulmates. The reason he was at my house right after he hit his head, the reason he could get into my dreams, the reason we had the static between us, the attraction between us, and even the reason I could hear him so well. It might even be the reason that his power was magnified. It was even the reason I got pictures of me instead of a flow of words. _I_ was the reason he was here.

I stepped out into the bright sun and walked to the truck stiffly. Tristen eyed me questioningly as I got in the truck.

"Jeeze, did she hit you over the head with her old book?" he laughed and I could cry at the sound of it.

"No, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry," he said and I turned toward him. I must have looked haggard full on because he flinched. He looked my face over. Then he reached his hand out to touch mine.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"I want to go home before I tell you." I answered and turned to start the truck and pull out of the parking spot.

I could feel his questioning eyes on my face the whole way but I kept my eyes on the road. Then I got out of the truck and thank the heavens my mom had left for work.

I went up to my room and I could feel Tristen behind me. I sat on the bed and just stared at the wall. I was piecing the conversation in my head. I sat for ten minutes or more figuring out the beginning sentence.

"Say something Triss, your scaring me." I heard Tristen say.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him in the eyes.

"Okay. Let me say everything before you say anything otherwise, I might not say it all." I said and he nodded.

I took another deep breath and looked at his face, "the static between us isn't a coincidence. The reason you were here the day you hit your head, the reason you can get in my dreams, the reason you can't leave me, the reason you have such unusual powers; it's not all because your still alive." He looked surprised but kept his mouth shut wisely.

"The reason all these things happened is because – we are – Soulmates." I searched his face looking for the disbelief I was expecting but he just stared at me blankly.

"When I went to Francine's," I continued. "I told her – that – there was something weird between us. I told her about the static. She brought out a book and there were entries about it happening to random people." I waited for his reaction because I didn't know what else to say.

"I guess it said the definition of the Soulmate is that they can't leave each other because the attraction is too strong. And they don't have to be lovers they can just be best friends or something but they can't leave each other and if you die than I might die. So I might as well die because we have no idea long the attraction will last" The hysteria hit me hard.

"Sh," he whispered and he brought me into his arms and I sat on his lap, something I shouldn't be able to do. With shaking hands I grabbed his and held it in front of my face. It looked more solid and I could touch it without trouble.

He twisted his hand around so he could hold mine and he shifted me to face him. Then he kissed me. His lips were cold and tingly. It felt right to be there and who knows how long we stayed there; ten seconds or ten minutes.

Then we stopped and he whipped away a tear with his free hand. I didn't even know that I was crying.

"I have wanted to do that since the day you said everything would be okay." He said and smiled at me.

"It all makes since now!" he exclaimed and shook his head in disbelief. "I told you from now on everything that happened would be good," he chuckled and kissed me again.

I couldn't help laughing either and I started laughing while he was kissing me. He stopped to laugh with me. I knew then and there that everything would be okay. It felt right to be there in his arms and I knew that something would happen to make it all better.

Ugly

Wednesday, August 11.

"Beatrice!" Tristen was shaking my shoulders. I groaned.

"Beatrice," he said again.

"What is it?" I managed to slur.

"The guy who tried to break in is back!" This roused me.

"What!?" I exclaimed and sat strait up. I yanked the covers back and despite the spots I was beginning to see in front of my eyes I headed toward the door and walked through Tristen unsteadily.

I heard him gasp and scramble back around to stop me. He held his hands out in front of me and he was shaking his head.

"Why not?" I whispered. I pulled my eyebrows together in frustration.

"Because this time he has a gun," He answered. "And you are wobbling on your feet."

"Can you see his face?" I asked, ignoring the last part and steadying myself.

"No, he's wearing the mask and gloves again." He answered with a little desolation. _Damn_, I thought.

"What's he doing?"

"He's at the kitchen door and he's prying it open with a crowbar. It's taking him a while."

"Should we call the police?" I asked.

"You got a phone up here?" He asked by way of answer.

We didn't have a phone upstairs and my silence told him so.

I wasn't scared, surprisingly. I actually wanted to march down the stairs and demand who was there; I would have if he didn't have a gun. I searched my bedroom frantically, looking for something that might help or searching for something in my brain that I could do. My weapon of choice was right in front of me.

"Go scare him away," I said. "If we can't call the police we could at least make him go away and he won't get any of our things." Tristen nodded and went out the door.

I heard a ghostly, "Go away." Tristen had never made loud enough sounds to regulars other than a click. He had never spoken. I wondered if I should be proud or worried.

After I heard the wail I heard a manly scream and the low thunk of metal on wood. I never heard a car start or any other noises. I made sure to mentally note this.

Then my mom yelled up the stairs, "Beatrice? What was that?"

I raced out my door and ran downstairs to my mom.

"I'm not sure," I lied. No use in telling her I knew it was the thief because then there would be questions following.

"Let's go check it out," she said and she disappeared into her room for a few seconds then emerged holding a large metal baseball bat. Normally I would have laughed at my mother hunched over holding a baseball bat but this morning I wasn't laughing.

I nodded and we crept up to the kitchen. It looked normal in the moonlight but after mom turned on the kitchen light I saw the damage.

The door had started to splinter in the spots that he had put the crowbar. The window pane that we had replaced was cracked. Tristen was standing next to the door.

"Next time we'll get him," he said and I believed him.

"We have to get an alarm system," my mom said.

"I agree," I said to both of them.

"Should we call the police?" I asked her.

"I think we should," she answered.

While she called the police I inspected the door more thoroughly. The man had been trying to pry the lock from the door with the crowbar. There were two spots where the wood was splintered and warped. The door knob was intact but the window pane had a diagonal crack splitting it in two.

I unlocked the door and looked outside. On the back porch just outside the door the crowbar lay. I didn't touch it even though I knew that the man's finger prints weren't on it.

I heard my mom in the other room talking to Detective Mathews. "There isn't much for you to inspect, Detective." Pause. "They used a crowbar," Pause. "The investigation turned up gloves last time," Pause. "We are going to put in an alarm system," Pause. "Beatrice has met the neighbor," pause. "She could," Pause. "Thank you," pause. "Yes, we will." She hung up the phone.

"The Detective wants you to go and talk with the neighbor to let him know we have a thief lurking." She said to me.

"I will today," I said to her but I really didn't want to talk to the crazy guy.

I went upstairs and Tristen followed.

"What's wrong with the guy?" He asked me after I had closed the door.

"He is just – crazy," I said and crossed my arms.

He plopped down on my bed. He has been getting more used to touching things. We have experimented in the past two days with him lifting different items. So far he can turn a doorknob, sit on surfaces, and lift things that weigh no more than a bottle of shampoo.

"I'll go with you," he offered while I removed my favorite pair of well worn jean cut-offs and a green tank-top.

"Yea, I know you will," and I pointed at the door where he was supposed to disappear.

"You know it," he said, smiling, right before he closed the door.

After I was fit to see Bobby Long and after I had waited for a couple of hours I went out the front door and made my way down the driveway.

"Hey, Tristen?" I called out and stopped in the middle of the driveway with my eyebrows pulled together.

"Mhm," he answered. He was idly playing with a piece of gravel and he turned to look at me. When he saw my face he dropped the rock.

"What?" he asked more alarmed.

"Remember when you were 'inside my head'?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes to the side as if that would help him remember, "Sure."

"How did you do it?" I inquired.

He pulled his eyebrows together, "You know as much as I do."

"Are you sure?" I said and crossed my arms.

"I dunno – I just kind of – did it." He shrugged and started walking down the driveway again.

I stood where I was in the same position and contemplated, "No ghost has been able to do that to me."

He turned around from about ten feet in front of me, said, "not normal," tapped his head, and turned to keep walking.

I had to run to catch up with him. My serious demeanor stayed with me as we arrived at my neighbor's trailer.

We arrived at Bobby's trailer and I whispered to Tristen to be quite or I would lose my concentration. Then, I knocked on his flimsy door.

Bobby came to the door wearing greasy jeans and boots with a checkered shirt that was unbuttoned half-way down. He looked at me and when he remembered who I was his eyebrows pulled together in an unmistakable scowl.

"Charming," Tristen muttered.

"Hello, Mr. Long. Remember me?"

He nodded and still stood in the doorway with the screen door between us.

"I have some bad news." I said and tried my best to look into his face. He was no pretty sight.

He still wasn't saying anything so I continued, "We had a break in early this morning around five AM."

He blinked a few times very rapidly but he never said anything so, again, I continued, "I just wanted to let you know because we are getting an alarm system put in and we thought you might like to get one yourself. You know, it's just precaution. He has only come to our house but he might try yours." In between each sentence I looked at him expectantly so he would say something but he only stared at me and held his eyebrows together.

"Um. I'm sorry?" I wasn't sure if he had spoken or not. Was he deaf?

"Triss, there is something seriously wrong with this guy," Tristen said and tugged the hem of my tank-top. "Let's go."

I turned to Tristen and to my horror so did Bobby! I shifted back to him and stared at him with narrowed eyes. He just stared at Tristen.

"You recording this!?" He suddenly exclaimed. "You got a little radio!? You get off my property! I never done nothin'!" He pointed toward the exit.

I stared at him, surprised, for a moment then said, "I'm not recording anything but I can see that you have things on your mind. I'll go and I hope you'll get an alarm system like we are," and I left the brown grassy lawn thoroughly confused.

After we got to the beginning of our driveway I said, "I thought he saw you."

"Heard me," Tristen mumbled.

"Oh."

"He was acting much too suspicious," and for the second time I turned to him with a surprised expression on my face.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, he's the right height and build and…" he looked at me with his hand open and his eyebrows arched.

"Hm," was all I could say.

We got home and my mom was gone for work. It was Monday so there was a chance she was bringing home a 'visitor' after work.

I plopped down on the couch, "You are getting really – noticeable."

He plopped down next to me and actually moved the couch, "I know. I don't know what it means."

I frowned, we had too many surprises already and now that Tristen was more noticeable we might have more problems.

"I wish it would all just go away," I said and leaned my head back onto his shoulder.

"Don't we all?" and he actually picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

"You are going to have to stop that soon. My mom will start getting suspicious if stuff starts floating around."

He laughed than did his best impression of a ghostly wail and he moved the controller around as if it was moving on its own. I laughed with him.

My smile faded and I turned to face him, "we need to visit you in the hospital."

"Why?"

"Because we need to find out what going on there."

He looked at me for a moment than nodded emphatically, "Let's go now!"

"Well, I kind of wanted to stay home today."

"Why? We have for the past two days!"

I touched his nose, paused, "All right then, let's go."

I didn't understand his sudden attitude but I figured it was something I would never understand. I shuddered at the prospect.

We drove to the Mount Angel Hospital and parked in the parking garage. He reminded me that his room number was room four-oh-nine and I reminded him not to touch anything.

"How may I help you?" asked the sweet woman at the desk as we passed.

I smiled my best and realized to other people I look like I came alone. "Yes, I need to visit Tristen Marshal in room four-oh-nine."

"Are you family?" she asked cheerfully.

Tristen and I look nothing alike but I said, "I'm his sister."

Tristen laughed silently and I had to ignore it.

"Go on up, second floor." She said after looking at the computer.

I smiled back at her and started toward the double doors. We rode the elevator to the second floor and walked down the hall with the three-hundreds. When we turned a corner we finally got into the four-hundreds and in no time we were standing outside room four-oh-nine.

I glanced up and down the hall which was surprisingly empty for the moment and took Tristen's hand. I opened the door and walked into a privet room.

The hospital bed centered on the wall held a boy about eighteen with light brown, almost blond hair; which was dirty and needed a brush. He had tubes in his nose and mouth, he had three IVs in his arms and the stiff hospital blanket was pulled up to his armpits. Thin, black and red wires protruded around his neck. His chest rose and fell with the machines' pumping.

In one of the chairs a woman sat staring at the boy and as I arrived with the ghost Tristen she slowly lifted her head. She had the exact color of Tristen's hair, light, thin and wavy and her eyes were the same blue grey. She was frail and hunched over with circles under her eyes.

She met my gaze and when she realized I wasn't staff she narrowed her eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Beatrice," I said and Tristen whispered in my ear that it was his mother.

"How did you get in here?"

"I'm – Tristen's," she stiffened as I said his name. "His… Good friend." I almost said girlfriend because I couldn't think of anything better.

"I'm Tanya." She said dispassionately. She didn't seem to care that I wasn't family.

"I'm so sorry this happened." I said and sat in another chair.

She was silent for a while then she said, "We don't even know how it happened."

"He slipped and fell on his head." I said and comfortingly patted her hand.

She stared at me open-mouthed so I hastily added, "That's what the doctor said."

She closed her mouth, "I just mean that we don't _really_ know how it happened."

"I was in the bathroom. I slipped on some spilled water or soap and hit my head on the sink." Tristen mumbled quietly.

I ducked my head to hide my face. When I looked back up Tanya was looking at the empty chair with an amazed expression.

"He's here with us!" she exclaimed. "Could you hear it too?! He told me that – that he – hit his head on the sink!" Then she frowned. "I'm going crazy. I – already knew that. I just – want to hear his voice saying that it's okay. I only wish he was truly here with us now." She put her head in her hands and began to weep.

Before I could do something like tell Mrs. Marshal that Tristen really was here with us, I got up and gestured for Tristen to follow. On our way out the door I ran into the doctor.

He was tall and balding and he wore slacks and brown loafers. Underneath his white coat I could see a starched collared shirt and a patterned tie. He was on his way to give out some bad news, I could tell. I felt bad for Tanya.

"Sir, can you tell me how he's doing?" I asked.

He hesitated for a moment but seeing as I had just come out of his patient's room, where only family was permitted, he was obliged to tell me what was going on. "He isn't doing his best. We have some bad news actually." I was right about that. "His vital signs are – hanging by a thread, so to speak. If we took him off the machines he most defiantly would pass away." He looked at his clipboard and gave me a sad look, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Doctor." I replied and we left the scene with just about as much information as when we had come.

I wasn't sure what I'd been hoping for. Maybe I was expecting Tristen to wake up and be all right. I knew deep down the real answer the whole time. I was keeping myself in a hole and not thinking about the bad moments that I knew were going to come.

We walked wordlessly to the car and when we got inside we still didn't say a word. I drove about five miles then I stopped, pulled onto a shoulder and put my head on the steering wheel.

I sat for a long time without any noise from Tristen. I knew he was having his own moment.

After a while of this I reached out for his hand and he closed it around mine. "What's going to happen now?" he asked.

I didn't answer because I knew that deep down he knew that he would be gone soon. His parents couldn't keep him on the machines forever and I knew that either way I would get the ugly end of the stick.

Human

Wednesday, August 12.

"This is Marci."

"Nice to meet you," I had to play nice girl with our visitors even though I really wanted to curl up in bed.

"Sure," was all she said back. She was a lot like Molly but at least Molly had been polite.

As I had predicted Mom brought home one of her clients in need. I was too wrapped up in my own problems to worry about the fact that Marci would be staying with us for the next three days.

As soon as Mom was busy with our guest I ran up the stairs to where Tristen was waiting.

I realized that I hadn't had a 'job' for the past five days. I wasn't protesting, but it would be nice to have something on the brain besides the death of the one you love.

Tomorrow I would visit Tristen on his death bed and the day after that and you guessed it, the day after that. Until the day that he –

I broke off my train of thought there. I wouldn't let myself get back into the slump I had been in before, at least for Tristen's sake.

I shut the bedroom door softly and in the dim light of the afternoon trudged to the bed. I plopped down and fell back onto the pillow. Tristen was sitting on the chair in the corner and he came to lie beside me.

"What are you going to do when I go to sleep?" I mumbled.

"Watch your Mom then wander and then for a while I'll watch you."

"That couldn't be fun." I mumbled almost inaudibly.

"I think it is." I could feel him laugh.

I reached over to search for his hand and when I found it he kissed my fingertips. I think that was when I fell asleep but I can't really remember.

Thursday, August 13.

I woke up around midnight to look around for him and I saw him sitting in the corner chair again. I could see him very well in the dark and he glowed like a white lantern. When he saw that I was awake he got up from his spot to pull the blanket over me and kiss my forehead. I drifted to sleep easily again.

The next time I woke up he was sleeping in the chair. I sleepily lifted my eyelids and snuggled down into the blanket. _Sleeping in the chair_!? I shot up and flew over to his side. I rubbed my arms in the chilly morning air and bent down to peer at his face.

His breathing was deep and even and his eyelids were closed. His head was against the wall and his hands were in his lap.

I waved a hand in front of his face, "Tristen?" I whispered.

He sat still and didn't twitch. This was some joke.

I touched his arm, "Tristen?" I said a little louder.

He still didn't move so I shook his arm and said the loudest I could, "Tristen!"

His eyelids fluttered and he sighed. He looked around and when he saw my face looking at his he smiled.

"Hey Babe." He murmured and stretched and yawned.

He had never called me that before, "Babe?"

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Is this a joke?" I said trying to ignore the new term of endearment.

He frowned, "No. Really, what's the matter?"

"You're sleeping!" I whisper exclaimed.

"I like your tank top." He smiled at me.

There was something wrong with him. I turned to the bathroom and pulled a brush through my hair quickly. I brushed my teeth and Tristen came into the doorway. When I passed to go to my wardrobe he grabbed my arm and spun me around.

He gave me a kiss and said, "What's the matter?"

"How are you sleeping?!" I hissed. "What's going on?"

"I dunno," he said and let me go. He looked a little hurt.

I pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my tank top and I was still wearing the shorts from yesterday so I was set for pants. I found a pair of flip flops and I slapped them on the floor. I shuffled my feet into them and grabbed my car keys while holding the doorknob and glancing at the clock.

It was only five thirty. _Oh well_, I thought and went out the door.

When Tristen wasn't behind me I turned around to grab his arm and pull him along. Thankfully he followed me down the stairs and into the living room where I looked for Mom. When I didn't see her I crept out the front door.

I drove as fast as I could to Francine's and when I got there I almost ran to her front door. I knocked impatiently and after a minute I rang the doorbell. Gigi came to the front door. I greeted her by pushing past her and running into the back room. I didn't see Francine.

"Where's Francine?" I asked when I had come back into the front room.

"She's sleeping. What's wrong Beatrice?"

I took a deep breath and began pacing. "Is there any way for ghost to be heard by regulars?"

She said, "Not fully. What – "

But I interrupted her and said, "Can they touch stuff?"

"Not fully. They can't lift."

I looked around the shop and wrung my hands. "Is there any way for them to sleep?" I asked. I looked her dead in the face and narrowed my eyes. If she said no I would be worried all over again.

"No."

I yelled in frustration and grabbed my head. "What's wrong!" it wasn't a question somehow.

She backed up a little at my display and went into the back room. Tristen walked over to me and led me to a chair where I slumped and began to cry. He rubbed my back and smoothed my hair comfortingly but it wouldn't change anything.

There was something terribly wrong with Tristen. I didn't know what it was but it was wrong. It might or might not have anything to do with the Soulmate phenomenon. He shouldn't be able to randomly be heard by regulars and be able to touch everything and he shouldn't be able to sleep. Those were human things and his human body was sick in bed.

"Why aren't you as confused as I am?" I asked angrily.

He hugged me closer and I sniffled. "Because – I like being able to do these things. If it weren't for the weird things that have been happening I wouldn't be able to do this." And he hugged me even tighter to show what he meant.

I had never thought of it that way, "Oh."

I felt better already. I guess the crying had helped.

In the course of this Francine had come out of the back room wearing pajama bottoms, pink slippers and a sweater. She had been talking to Gigi in low tones and now she walked over to talk to me.

"What happened that you have to come and bug me at _five_ in the morning?"

"Francine," I began. "The reason for all the weird things that have been happening with Tristen is probably because of the Soulmate thing." She narrowed her eyes at me.

She had no idea what I was talking about, "He – this morning he was sleeping."

She opened her eyes wide and stared at me. Then she stared at him. He shrugged, "No joke."

She shook her head and blinked, "What do you mean?"

"He was sleeping," I insisted.

She blinked again and looked at Gigi, "Are you sure this isn't possible?"

Gigi nodded. "What next? Is he going to change completely from a ghost to a human?!" Francine exclaimed.

This sparked an idea. "Maybe he will," I said seriously.

Everyone looked at me including Tristen. I got up and began pacing again. All my real worry was gone with this new idea.

"First he is able to speak and others can hear him when they are around. Next he was able to touch things." I hadn't told Francine this before so she gaped at me.

"He is becoming more recognizable to humans and now he is sleeping." I gazed at all my friends and they just gaped at me, except for Tristen.

"He is becoming more suitable for the human. Me."

They continued to gape and even Tristen joined in but they had no way to refute my idea. It was the only explanation.

Slowly acceptation crossed they're faces. "You have a very good observation there, Beatrice." Gigi finally said.

"So what will happen to me?" Tristen asked.

I turned to look at him and I said, "The final step would be – "

"To be human," Francine completed. "Why didn't I see it before?! When we found out that you were Soulmates I should have seen it was the cause for the strange happenings!"

"What do we do when there is two Tristen's walking around?" I asked.

Gigi shrugged, "The other one won't live."

I looked at her with horror but I knew that it was the only way.

"We went to the hospital yesterday and the doctor said he wasn't getting any better."

She nodded, "Problem solved."

But it didn't seem like my problem was solved. It seemed wrong because the new Tristen couldn't go back to his family without having to tell them about the supernatural world. My mom, too, would have to be brought out into the sup world. I said so to my audience.

"Perhaps we need to pay a visit to special circumstances." Francine said ominously.

"This_ is_ very special circumstances." Gigi agreed with Francine. "The boy won't go unnoticed."

I looked back and forth between them. "How do we set up an appointment?"

They looked at me, surprised. "Call," Gigi said and I laughed.

"I thought more like an owl with a message or a little goblin with a scroll under his arm." I said. I rocked back and forth with laughter and after a minute of me laughing by myself they joined in and all the tension from before was gone. Well, not all of it, but pretty close.

Francine went back to her second floor house and Gigi went to make the call. Tristen and I sat at the table.

"Why were you so loopy when you first woke up?" I asked him.

He shrugged, "Because that's how I act when I first wake up."

We laughed while we waited for Gigi. He got up suddenly and lifted me from my chair. He spun me around and planted a kiss on me. Just then Gigi walked in with Francine and one of them cleared they're throat.

We stumbled back and looked expectantly at them. I was embarrassed but Tristen looked positively chipper.

"We have an appointment for next week." Gigi said. "And this will make the books." She knew I wouldn't like this piece of information and I wrinkled my nose in response.

"What day?" Tristen asked.

"Friday. We have over a week."

"Okay, until then." I said; I was anxious to go home and maybe even got some more sleep.

Hopefully Tristen's condition wouldn't escalate so that I would be hiding him. I considered the amount of time he'd spent as a ghost. It was a week and a half since he had hit his head. Day two he started acting 'human' and by day twelve he was doing the most human things. I thought that the next step would be to be seen and that wasn't the best considering who I lived with and the reason that Tristen was supposed to be dyeing.

I considered, not for the first time, to tell my Mom. If no one found out that I told her than it would be okay, wouldn't it? I wouldn't tell Francine or Gigi and I would defiantly pretend that my Mom was ignorant when we visited our – bosses – for lack of a better word, next Tuesday.

She was open-minded, she wasn't the type to overreact and if she did, all I would have to do was use the hypnotism trick on her.

I told Tristen all of these things. I didn't mention actually initiating the plan though.

"I don't see why not," he concluded after a long pause. "You're completely right; it's defiantly worth a shot to see if she could accept it."

So we compiled a completely rational plan to see if my mother was fit for the sup world. We planned to put it to action today.

. . .

"Good morning Mom," I said cheerfully when she got up and trudged in to get some coffee.

"Morning. You're up early." She sipped her coffee and perched on a dining room chair.

"What are you planning today?" I asked her, I hoped I wasn't acting too suspicious.

"Nothing in particular," She answered. "You?"

"Um, I actually wanted to talk to you about something. But don't you worry about that right now. Drink your coffee and get dressed then we'll talk."

She looked ambivalent but she didn't say another word on the subject. This was all part of our plan. Tristen was sitting at the table the whole time we were and we had decided that for him to be quiet would be for the best. I knew that if he had spoken my Mom would have heard him. I wasn't sure if in her groggy state she would recognize that it wasn't my voice but we had to take baby steps with our plan. Making my Mom listen to him right away wasn't the safe ticket.

She left after finishing one cup and after getting another. She took the mug with her while she got dressed. I heard the shower start so I knew I had about half an hour before my Mom would start bugging me about 'what I needed to talk to her about'.

I went over the plan with Tristen another two times while we waited. We both knew it by heart so there would hopefully be no mistakes.

My Mom came out of her room clad in blue jeans and a t-shirt. She was brushing her hair and she was bare foot. I had walked back to the room Marci was staying in and she was still sound asleep. Tristen would give me a signal if she woke up.

She came into the living room and started brushing her wet hair. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Something really important," I said and watched her face.

She glanced at me rather normally and said, "Oh, yea?"

I nodded, "you might not believe me."

This caught her attention and she lowered the brush, "What do you mean?"

I scooted forward on the chair a little and sat up straighter. My Mom sat a little straighter herself.

"Have you seen or heard anything – suspicious in our house lately?" I asked her.

She stared at me, surprised that I would bring up such a thing but then she really began to think, "I _do_ feel like someone is watching me."

I took a deep breath, "There _is_ someone watching you. And me."

She dropped her lower jaw, "How do you know?" she glanced around maybe looking for our watcher. "Is it that guy who's been trying to break in?"

I shook my head, "Do you believe in ghost?"

If it was possible for her to look even more amazed she did. She nodded and I wondered if she had already seen or heard Tristen.

"Well, here comes the part you won't believe me. We have a ghost and not only one ghost but many."

She blinked her eyes and crinkled her face in confusion, "How do you know Beatrice?" she was taking her dose of the sup world very well so I thought I should go on.

"I can see them," I answered. A scene flashed before my eyes of the _Sixth Sense_ when the little boy tells people, "I can see dead people."

She was so taken aback that she made a very quizzical face and pulled her head back. She was waiting for me to say that I was kidding. I wasn't.

Slowly, reluctantly she came to a realization and conclusion that I was completely serious. Then her expression turned into a million questions and I could tell what the first one on her mind was.

"How am I supposed to know you aren't – sick?" I knew she would ask this question but it still it hurt to hear it from her mouth.

"Would you like to meet Tristen?" I asked her.

Whatever she was expecting it wasn't this because she went back to being shocked. She nodded her head but I could tell she was still skeptical. I knew that if I really was sick and I had just proved it to my Mom she wouldn't want to have to send me to the hospital. The only thing keeping her from saying flat out that I was crazy was the fact that she had felt someone watching her and she was curious as to if that was true.

I looked over to Tristen who checked on Marc one more time and the whole time my mom followed my gaze. He sat on the couch next to me.

"Mom," I said slowly. "You can't see Tristen, and there is a huge story behind it, but you can hear him."

She looked around at the furniture, "Where is he?" she asked reluctantly.

I put my hand on Tristen's shoulder and she gasped. She put her hand up to her throat and looked at my hand curved, to her, in the shape of an invisible shoulder. She pointed to the spot Tristen was sitting, I nodded, and so she composed herself and sat up straighter.

"Hello Miss Finn." He said.

She looked at the spot he was sitting, "Hello." She said shakily.

"I'm Tristen."

"Nice to meet you." She said with the amazed expression just plastered on her face as if for good.

I looked at him and he smiled and opened his mouth but I put my hand over it. I could tell he was about to crack about how he would shake her hand but, in fact, he was dead. I stopped him because this was disconcerting and, besides, that just wasn't true.

"What?" My mom asked when she my hand covering a spot where a mouth would be. She was catching on very fast and she wasn't freaking out. _Way to go Mom_, I thought.

"Oh, nothing. He just," I said cheerfully and searched my brain, "You don't need to hear that just yet." This seemed plausible enough because I knew she knew I was pacing the information I was giving her. When she realized this she put on an angry and hurt face.

"Why haven't you told me about this sooner? And how long has it been going on?" she said like a mother should.

I ducked my head to hide my happy smile, "I've had a hell of a time since I moved here." I didn't answer the first question, not just yet.

"Oh, god." She exclaimed. "What _have_ you had to deal with Triss?"

"Well, I have a job." I started. "I have to help them move on."

"I see." She said then she shook her head, "So all the myths are true? The dead who are troubled stay behind to get help and if they don't they walk the earth?"

"Yep. And there are many people that do the same thing I do all around the world."

I don't know how many times I've said that my mom looked amazed, but she really did look amazed all over again.

"Wow," she murmured.

"Mhm."

Tristen had kept silent through this whole thing and I nudged him so he would talk to my mom.

"So Miss Finn," He said.

"Please, call me Jennie." She said and smiled at where his face would be. She wasn't looking at his eyes, not that she knew that, but she was looking at his cheek or his ear.

I silently congratulated my mom for being so cool about the situation.

He nodded, which was stupid because she couldn't see it. "There are precautions with knowing about the sup world." He said.

"Oh?" she asked. She was truly interested now.

"Yes. First, you can't tell anyone. I really think you should know that Beatrice is taking a huge risk to tell you what has been going on. The people you tell will be killed and you will be as well." Way to break the news Tristen.

She looked as serious as my mother could and nodded, "I swear." She closed her eyes and held up her left hand. "I won't speak a word."

I smiled at Tristen. He draped his arm on my shoulders.

"Now tell me how you found out about all this." She said rather cheerfully. So I began telling her the story of how I became a Seer.

"But if I'm not a seer and Calvin isn't then how do you have that gene?" she asked.

"We don't know."

"And I can't meet Francine?" she asked.

"Not until after next Tuesday."

I wasn't sure if my mom caught on that Tristen and I were 'an item' because I hadn't told her.

"All because of Tristen?" She asked.

"Yep." He said.

I could tell my mom was stuck behind a wall. She knew what was happening around her was real but she wasn't over the wall of true realization. It was fine now, but sometime in the next few days it would dawn on her of how much the world really held and how many secrets lie in it.

"So how long have you two been together?" She asked completely blasé.

I looked Tristen and he looked at me with the same look of shock.

"Oh, come on." She said incredulously. "I don't have to see him to know that you guys have something going on. I know you better than you think, Hun." She patted my knee.

I just stared at her pleased expression then I shook myself.

"When will I get to see the guy?" she asked me.

"Oh – um, soon. Hopefully not before next Tuesday."

"Because he needs to stay hidden." She clarified to herself. "There has got to be some reason you told me beforehand." She asked questioningly.

"Yea, he needs to stay hidden but you would notice if he started walking around. Plus, if the people at the meeting say that you can't be 'in the know' we don't know what will happen." I said.

"Be careful." She said suddenly and looked at me with pleading eyes. She touched my knee.

"Of course." I answered.

"Beatrice?" she said just as suddenly.

I looked up at her, "What else is there?" she asked.

"A lot," and I proceeded to tell her what else she had been missing out on for all her life.

Losing Early On

Thursday, August 13.

My Mom took everything very well. She flinched about a few of the things that Tristen and I mentioned. The thing was that we didn't know everything about the sup world. I reluctantly told my Mom about Trudy Gamnet and the Hypnotism trick. She even took that well.

So everything was peachy; if the peach was moldy.

After talking with my Mom I went to go see Tristen. He looked just as bad or worse from yesterday. I, at least, didn't run into his Mom.

I cried on the way home and Tristen knew better than to say anything. I knew that he was really okay because he would be human and with me in a week. But if I ever had to see him like that after that week was up it would tear me to shreds.

By the time we got home it was almost dinner time and my Mom had set a spot for him. I was trying to put them away when he came in and realized what was going on.

"I could try?" He said questioningly. My Mom didn't find anything wrong with it but I thought it was rude.

We put the plate and silverware back on the table and I put some food on his plate. I stood back and he gave me a reassuring smile.

"C'mon," he said. "Eat with me." He gave me the smile that always made me do what he said and I gave in and smiled back.

I wasn't about to eat before he tried though. I watched while he lifted the fork full of spaghetti to his mouth and bit down. The food went in.

"Hey Miss Finn, can you see it going down?" He asked jokingly.

I slapped his arm for using bad manners. "Ouch."

"I told you, it's Jennie and no, I can't. Can you taste it?" She threw back with one of her mysterious smiles.

"Mm, what's the secret ingredient?" He mused.

She threw her head back and laughed. Then she nudged me and said, "I like this kid." After that she turned back to him and said, "The secret ingredient is I added in half a can of olives; just this once." And she laughed again.

He looked appropriately surprised and I ducked to hide my smile. He still forgets that she can't see him.

"Hey, I just realized something." She said suddenly.

"You two have been sharing a room." Her expression went motherly.

"It's not like that – Jennie." Tristen said apologetically.

She looked at me, "Nope. Not like that."

"I still think you two shouldn't share a room. I do trust you but it's just weird, Hun." I had told my mom about the Soulmate thing so she knew we were together for an unannounced amount of time. I don't think she really understood our relationship.

I nodded. She didn't realize he could just come in my room without her permission because she couldn't see him.

"I know I can't see you, but like I said, I trust you." That was the deal breaker. She was saying 'I know that you can defy me but if you do I won't trust you anymore'.

_Simple enough_, I thought but when I looked at Tristen he looked miffed and – _scared_. I wished for the first time that he could talk and others couldn't hear him. He gave me a look that meant we would talk without my Mom in earshot.

When she was putting away food and dishes and we were in the living room he told me what was bugging him.

"I don't want to leave you," he said. "I _can't_ leave you," He added.

I thought for a moment, not sure what to say. I wasn't exactly sure if he meant he couldn't leave because of the tie or he couldn't because he didn't want to. At the moment I really didn't want him to be more than five feet away either.

I pushed him into the hall and spoke very quietly, praying my Mom wouldn't catch us. "Listen," I breathed. "You are going to have to play along with the whole 'I'm a good boy in my own room' thing. Then you can sneak back in."

He smiled down at me. I was two inches away with one hand on his chest. He reached out to touch my cheek and he grabbed the hand I had on his chest. He removed it only to intertwine it in his own. I let myself bask in his – happiness, affection, attraction, comfort, admiration, and companionship. I suppose it was the Soulmate crap again.

We were snapped out of it when Mom called and said, "Which bedroom do you want?"

I backed up hastily and shook myself. He did too then he called out in a shaky voice, "Whichever's most convenient."

I stifled a giggle, 'most convenient' meant 'farthest away from Beatrice's room'.

After the dose-do of getting him situated in his room and everyone saying goodnight to each other I went into my own room and took a shower. When I emerged from the steamy bathroom Tristen was sitting on my bed.

I walked over to pull back the covers and pat the spot beside me. He looked uneasy but after a second he got up and tiptoed as quiet as a half-ghost could to the bed. He shimmied himself under the covers big red coat and all.

"Can you take off the coat?" I whispered.

"Sure." And he took off the coat to throw it on the corner chair.

"We need to get you some other clothes," I said and snuggled in next to him.

"Yea," he said it absently. I caught a whiff of something strange when I started to turn out the light so I left it on and froze in place. It wasn't a smell it was a – feeling.

I don't know how I knew but suddenly I knew that Tristen was thinking about. He was thinking about me, of course, but that wasn't what caught my attention.

Besides the fact that I knew what he was thinking, something _else_ caught my attention. He was trying to imagine if I was thinking about – something.

Then I lost the connection but somehow I knew what the end of the thought was. I knew that at the end of that thought Tristen was thinking about what a lot of the other teenage boys are thinking about more than half the time. I don't have to even say the word for you to catch my drift.

It appalled me that I should know this. I resisted the urge to ask him what he was thinking about. Then my curiosity got the better of me. _Curiosity killed the cat_, my conscience warned. Of course I ignored it.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked trying to sound as absent as he had.

I turned away from the still on lamp and looked at him. In the light of the lamp I saw his face flush and he shifted his eyes to the side like he did when he was thinking.

"Sleep," he answered after a pause.

I turned out the light before he could see my expression. _I knew what he was thinking_. It didn't bug me that he didn't tell me what he was really thinking about. It was his privet thoughts.

Then I chided myself for not paying attention to more important things. I _read his thought_s! And for a whole three seconds I let this wash over me. Then I turned out the lamp like nothing had happened. _Because nothing _had_ happened_, I told myself.

It was like playing ping-pong in my brain I couldn't bring myself to deny it but I couldn't bring myself to accept it.

Then my thoughts flashed back to before I met Tristen. I remembered the scene where I had just met Paul. _Paul,_ I smiled in the dark. I had just met Paul and –

"What are you thinking about?" Tristen whispered in my ear and I had been so deep in my own thoughts that I jumped. Then I realized that from the point where I realized I was reading Tristen's mind up until now it had only been ten seconds or more.

"The second ghost I ever met," I whispered back.

"Me?" He asked. I could feel him shifting on the bed.

_Oh_, "No. I never told you about Paul."

"_Paul_?" I could feel him sit up.

"He moved on," I yawned and felt him lie back down. _Silly Tristen, now where was I_?

I had just met Paul and I had to figure out what he needed. That's when I channeled. I smiled again at the reverie. Francine – something happened with –

"Hey, why did you even ask what I was thinking?" I sighed. Tristen never gave up.

"Just wondering," I said in the most nonchalant tone I could manage. I yawned again for affect.

"Mm," he mumbled and I could tell he was ready to sleep too. But there was something important with Francine. _Shut up Tristen_, I thought dismally.

Something happened with Francine. She hadn't been able to channel and she was proud but –

I could feel the sleep tugging at my brain and I could also feel the heavy rise and fall of Tristen's breath. I concentrated on that. _Rise, fall, rise, fall, there was something important to remember – _

. . .

I took the book Francine was holding and scanned the page.

"What?" I asked.

She held her lips shut tight and pointed at the book. So I read more carefully but I couldn't see anything that was important. None of the words stood out to me. In fact most of the words were jumbled.

I glanced back at her, "I can't find anything," I said. "Nothing important."

She pointed again and so I looked again. This time I saw something that caught my eye. It was the entry about Soulmates. The word 'irrevocably' had caught my attention. So I looked next to that entry where the words weren't so jumbled and I could understand them.

I couldn't read the title; it started with a 'T' though, so I read the entry: _One can see into the minds of other beings._ It was a simple sentence the way the entry for Soulmates had been.

_Why was Francine showing me this? _I looked back up and she pointed, yet again, to the book. Wondering if I had missed something I looked again.

The only other entry that was readable was the one marked 'Seer'. So I read that one: One _can see the supernatural imprint of the deceased and it is one's duty to pass them through the shadow._ I thought it was a pretty way to put my job. '_Through the shadow'_, I liked it.

Then I realized what Francine was showing me. It was me. I was a seer and I was Soulmates with someone else. _But what about the entry starting with a 'T'?_

I looked back at it to find that I could read the word. It went un-jumbled before my eyes. I read it and it sent horrible shivers down my spine. The one word jumped out to me: _Telepath._

. . .

Friday, August 14.

I woke up. I didn't wake up with a start I just did it. I just opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling. Tristen was still fast asleep and I looked around the room without moving my body.

Then I thought about my dream. Right before I had been falling asleep I had been trying to remember something about Francine. I remember now. It was a scene from when Paul needed help.

I had looked at Francine and seen – or heard – _jealousy_. I had written it off as my imagining things but now I could see the same thing that had happened that night.

I had _heard_ Tristen's thoughts. What I don't understand is why I didn't always hear peoples' thoughts. Then I realized something else.

I had always been able to do it. I could always tell when people were lying. I could always tell if they were trying to hide something.

I had ignored it for so long. I had written it off as very good eyes picking up the change in their eyes or the shift in their weight. I used to say to myself, _it's nothing magical_. No, it wasn't magical it was _supernatural_.

_How do I have two supernatural abilities? _I have to ask myself these questions. I had come up with a completely rational explanation for the reason I had seer blood. It was this: one of my grandparents was a seer.

It was simple and rational. And I also had a very good idea of who that grandparent was. Grandma Ursula was a weird old woman and I have no doubt that she had a secret.

She married a human, I think. That was the other half of me. Human and seer blood mixing in my veins.

Now my whole explanation was foiled. Someone had had a part of telepath in them. Grandpa George had been normal on the outside though.

Maybe grandpa was half telepath and his dad or mom had been full telepath. I arranged the family tree in my head. Or maybe I got it from Dad's side. Then I slipped out of bed as quiet as possible to get a sheet of paper and a pen.

It reminded me of the punnet squares in biology. The dominate gene is 'T' for telepathic and the opposite is't' for human. Every generation has the possibility of having one human child and the others are one that can be undecided or decided. My father was undecided but passed the gene to me.

It looked to me like it every generation there was a full blooded seer.

I tried to picture my dad's relatives but I couldn't remember most of them. Maybe it was time to call my dad.

I looked at the clock. It said that it was seven A.M.

"Hey," I heard from my right side.

I turned to look at him still on the bed. "Hey," smiled back at him.

"What's the matter?" he asked

"I guess I figured out my heritage," I said incredulously.

"What about it?"

"I'm – I'm a half," he looked at me expectantly. "A half telepath."

"Huh?" he got up and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm a half telepath," I said it more surely this time.

He shook his head, "Sure?"

I nodded, "Look."

I tossed the notebook holding the family tree I just sketched out lightly across the room. He read it, turned the page and read the other half, then looked at me.

"Who has the power?"

I shrugged, "one of my grandparents."

"What made you –," he looked past me remembering last night. "What did you hear?"

"Mostly your feelings."

He looked mildly embarrassed and looked at his bare feet. He fiddled with the hem of his plain black t-shirt.

"It's not a big deal," I commented at his silence. "Don't be embarrassed or anything."

He shrugged, "not a big deal." Then he perked up, "How much can you hear? Is it cool to hear people's thoughts?"

I shook my head, "it's only confusing. Plus, I don't want to know anyone's thoughts. I think if I was full telepath it would be unbearable."

"Oh," he mumbled. "Are you okay, then?"

I stared at him. I wasn't sure how I felt about the whole thing. "I guess I feel okay," I shrugged. "I'm going to call my dad today."

"Yea? To ask him about your family tree?" He asked.

I nodded than yawned and stretched. "What sounds good for breakfast?"

His face lit up, "You have pancake batter?"

"Yup."

"C'mon, let's go make some stuff together!" he grabbed my hand and tugged me to the door. "You're sure your okay?"

"Yea," it was the truth. If I had been on my own I might have felt a little more like sulking but with Tristen by my side I felt completely at ease.

This made me think about how long ago we really met. Only a little over a week and half, I thought. It amazed me that we could love each other this way with so little time spent between us. My every thought was followed by a thought about Tristen; my every move an orbit around Tristen's.

I wasn't sure if I could actually believe that we loved each other. _What if it was all just because of the Soulmate bond?_ No. I couldn't go on thinking that way. If I did than I would just be second guessing myself. In the back of my head I subconsciously kept the thought around though. I didn't directly think about it but it based most of the words I spoke thereafter.

I even subconsciously harbored a hate for the Soulmate phenomenon. I didn't like having to be forced to love someone. Even though I knew I did. It was the fact that I didn't choose it for myself.

I wouldn't be able to hate Tristen though. I wondered if we didn't have the bond would I have ever liked him. _Could I have ever loved him? Would I have ever gone through the trouble? _The questions never stopped as Tristen and I made breakfast and, even, for the next few days.

Forget It

Monday, August 17.

"You sound different Triss," _Triss is the beginning to Tristen._

"I'm okay dad," I said wearily. _I'm not okay._

"All right. Now, what's the reason you called kiddo?" _Tristen always asks the most important questions first._

"I need to ask you about our family tree."

"What about it?" Tristen _always says it just like that._

"Oh, you know, I just want to know if I've got it right."

"Go for it." _I can't match _that_ to anything Tristen says._

I sighed, "At the top is my great grandma Marion and great grandpa Randy."

"Mhm," _Tristen does that when he's sleepy._

"Next are Grandpa Walter, Grandpa Barry and his wife grandma Lola."

I could hear his hesitation at the mention of Grandma Lola who was his mother. She had died not too long ago. "All of it is right."

"Then you, Mom, and me." I finished.

"You have got the whole thing planned out. What for?" _My dad and Tristen are very alike. _

"Were any of your grandparents on your dad's side – kind of – weird?" I asked.

He thought for a moment, "What kind of weird?" he asked hesitantly.

"Did they ever get called crazy or – anything like that?"

"It's strange that you ask," he began. "I was just thinking about it recently. Grandpa Randy always gave me the creeps."

"How so, Dad?"

"When I went to visit for dinner he would always pass me what I wanted on the dinner table right before I asked for it. When I asked him how he did the trick, he just said he could read my mind jokingly. He never got wrong what I wanted though."

"Hm. Did your dad ever act weird, too?" I asked.

"No but uncle Walter did. He committed suicide early on though." I shuddered. I knew exactly why he committed suicide.

"Thanks dad. I just wanted some info. You know, for – fun." I finished lamely.

"No problem, kiddo. I've got to go and run some errands. I hope you'll call me next week." _Next week Tristen and I would be human together._

"Kay, bye Dad. I'll call next week."

"Buh bye."

I hung up the phone and slumped against the kitchen wall. I had been exhausted for the past three days. I couldn't hold back the hatred for the _magical phenomenon_. I couldn't tell Tristen why I was acting funny. It was too embarrassing. The conversation with my dad was the hardest thing that I have done yet.

Anything that reminded me of him sent a shower of thoughts. I couldn't seem to stop them so I let them rush on. I would hold them back and then they would explode after I couldn't hold any longer. The trick was making everyone else think I was still okay when I went through the slumps.

The constant slumps, I reminded myself. They were embarrassing because I was remembering this moment when he kissed me, or I was remembering that he sounded that way when he was sad.

My dad was way too much like Tristen. He made the thoughts rush on without warning and without relent.

I couldn't cry about it, I couldn't be mad about it; I just had to live with it. Not to mention the fact that my telepathy powers were coming on fast with everyday passing day. I began to call my genetically required mind game a curse.

I noticed that the telepathy picked up on strong emotions mostly. Those strong emotions happened to be anger, jealousy, and lust. There were others but I mostly had been picking up on these ones. The raw emotions, the ones that didn't last and didn't matter as much as others. You can't stay angry forever, you can't stay jealous forever.

I had gotten a slap in the face when I went to the grocery store unprepared. The thoughts of all the people in the whole store were much more than Tristen's and my Mom's. Some of the raw thought I tried my hardest to ignore were actually directed at me.

At one point a younger girl who might have been my age was thinking how stupid my clothes looked. Actually, her specific thoughts were along the lines of, "That bitch can't even dress herself. Her grandma's old gunny sacks are all she has in her closet I bet."

I had walked right up to her, to her surprise, and told her that _her_ grandma's gunny sacks were all that was left. Then I stalked out of the store leaving my shopping cart in the isle where the girl stood. She had her mouth hanging open and she was looking around trying to find the words to say.

I laughed on the way to a different store. That was the only good thing that had come out of the whole three days I had been spending with my curse.

I laughed a little crazily and put my hands in my head. I had to tell Francine. She might be able to help. I wondered if she could help me with the Tristen bit.

"Huh?" asked a voice in the kitchen with me. I must have said it aloud.

"Nothing," I muttered and stood up. It was Tristen, of course.

"What's up with you Triss? You just aren't acting right," he said suddenly.

I debated for a few seconds whether or not I should tell him everything. Then I chided myself; he didn't need to be brought into my sorrows.

"Just tired," I said. It was the truth. I hadn't been able to sleep for the past three days either. I had been having dreams and nightmares that I could never remember. I tossed and turned in the bed next to Tristen.

Tristen didn't look convinced with my explanation. He raised his eyebrows.

"This is about the mind-reading thing isn't it?" he said accusingly.

I couldn't lie about that, "Yea." I said. He still didn't look convinced.

"There's something else you're not telling me," he said taking a step forward. "I can tell. I can just tell there is something else."

I stared at his face for a long moment. "Nothing else."

He shook his head, "You can't lie to me Triss." He said indicatively.

I looked at the floor, "You aren't my father." I said icily.

He took a step back, "I'm not trying to be."

"Then trust me when I say that there is nothing else."

He stared at me with his eyebrows pulled together. A muscle in his neck jumped then he turned and left the kitchen. I knew he was hurt but what could I do? I just couldn't tell him the truth; it would hurt him too much. Much more than what I just said.

Suddenly he stormed back into the kitchen and seized me. "It's eating me up!" he yelled, exasperation landing on the top of his emotions. He thought I was holding back something really important and that it would only make it worse for both of us if I never told him what was wrong.

I just stared wide-eyed at him and he shook me a little.

"What is it?!" He exclaimed then his voice took on a gentler tone, "You can tell me anything."

I just held my body ridged and stared into his troubled face. He let me go, tugged my shirt smooth, and tucked my hair behind my ear.

"Sorry," he said insincerely. "I got carried away. But whatever you're keeping from me. Whatever emotion you have – is leaking into my brain."

I knew what he was talking about. When he came home with me on one of the first days his emotions leaked into me also. The bad ones were the ones that got out though.

I nodded and relaxed just a little. Then I sighed, I would have to tell him. There was just no way around it. He would always know something was wrong.

"All right – okay. I – um, do have something to say."

He looked resigned and took a seat in a kitchen chair, his back ridged.

"Um," I began pacing searching for the words to explain. "The bond, it has been messing with my mind."

He widened his eyes but said nothing. "Everything – everything that I do everything anyone says – everything." I wasn't sure how many times I could repeat 'everything' to emphasize.

"It all makes me think of you. The conversation with my dad was the worst. He reminds me of you too much." I lowered my head.

"It's exhausting," I breathed. "I can't even think without it taking control." I took a short shuddering breath because there was nothing else to say.

His expression never changed, "what – do you want to do about it?"

I shook my head, "Dunno." I trudged out into the living room and lay down on the couch. All the sleep deprivation was finally catching up with me.

"I'm going to make some calls," I heard him mumble as I left. I wasn't sure if he said it quietly because he didn't want me to hear him or because he was just as exasperated as I was. It didn't matter because as soon as I realized what he was saying I was out cold.

. . .

"Where is she?"

"Off somewhere. It doesn't matter. Get in, get out."

I squinted my eyes just enough to see a bright light, Tristen and Francine.

"Yes. That is a good idea. Would you hand me that bottle? Yes, that one." Francine says.

"What are you doing?" asks Tristen.

"Mixing. Now that bottle. Thank you." Francine. I opened my eyes just a little more.

"It's ready. Lucky I know a bit of witchcraft."Francine turned toward me with a bottle and noticed that my eyes were open. "Good afternoon, ready for your medicine?"

" Where did you learn witchcraft?" I asked in response.

"Here and there. Now open wide." She poured a few drops of the of the bottle in my mouth and I almost threw up my empty stomach.

"What the – " I said, spluttering.

"It's the Burberry root, gets em' every time." She chuckled.

"What is it for?" I asked.

"Headaches. You had a hell of one. Now sleep, you've got circles. When she wakes up make her eat something." She began gathering up all her supplies.

"Thank you." I sad as she reached the door.

"No problem." And with that she left.

"I'm not really tired." I said.

He shrugged, "Whatever."

"Wanna watch some TV?"

"Sure."

I didn't pay attention to what I put on though.

"Thanks for calling Francine," I patted his knee.

He relaxed a little after that but he jumped again when my mom came through the door. She set her bag on the end table and walked over to the armchair to sit down.

She suddenly sat up and said, "What's that?"

I followed her gaze to Tristen. "Tristen," I said.

She got up and peered closer, "What's this, a hand?" She squinted as if it would help her see better. "It's a hand. A floating hand." She walked away, snatching her bag from the end table and muttering to herself about floating body parts. She entered her bedroom door and closed it.

Stockholm syndrome

Tuesday, August 18.

I was bored. I hopped in my truck and made my way into town. I couldn't bring Tristen seeing as his hand was floating around.

I turned on the radio and rolled down the window but decided to roll it back up when I saw the gigantic rain cloud coming my way. I wasn't sure exactly where I was going but I knew I wanted to do some exploring.

I entered a section of town with one way streets and narrow buildings. It chose now to start to rain and I could hear thunder. _Oh great,_ I thought.

The windshield wiper switch was stuck and I glanced from the road to the switch while trying to fix it. It jerked into life and I look up just in to see a man crossing the street. I slam on the brakes and peer out the window at him.

He is wearing a brown trench coat with the collar turned up. He has a baseball cap on that covers his eyes and the rain is dripping down the top of it.

He stands in front of my car for some time, then, deciding that he had looked at me long enough he turned and walked up the steps of one of the many shops in this area of town. I shuddered at the man and watched him open the door. I let my eyes read the sign out front and parallel parked on the side of the road a block away.

The sign had had a certain look about it that made me automatically think of witchcraft. I don't know what it was, but it caught my eye. Besides, the creepy man that had gone into the shop made me want to go in even more.

I opened the door and closed it behind me. The shop was big. It had tons of knick knacks strewn around the many shelves. I couldn't begin to tell you what was on those shelves. The room was rectangular but the majority of it was taken up by a circular ring of steps. The whole thing was grey brick and it had few windows. It would be a beautiful place to hold a party or fashion show.

To the side was a desk where a woman sat at a tall chair and the man was on my side of the desk facing away from me. He waved his hands theatrically and leaned over the desk speaking in low tones. The woman glanced up at me and then back at the man. He followed her gaze and jerked up to look at me. He grunted and blew by me to open the door and slam it.

I walked up to the desk and caught a thought from the woman. _Seer_, she thought as she regarded me.

"And telepath," I added aloud.

She smiled at me and said, "I'm Sophie-Anne but please." She put her elbows on the desk, "Call me Sophie."

Sophie-Anne was one interesting looking girl. Her arms were coated in an intricate looking form of tattoo I had never seen. It was made up of simple black lines. It trailed down her fingers and up her neck. She wore a ring or two on every finger and at least five long chain-link necklaces around her neck. From what I could see she was wearing a shirt which had sleeves reaching the fingertips. It was a creamy white silk with a pattern of flowers I could barely even see they were so faint. Her hair was blond and tangled with a headband and streams of beads.

"I'm Beatrice." I leaned on the tall desk and smiled back.

"All right, Beatrice, what can I help you with?"

"I'm new to town and thought I'd check out the area."

She frowned, "How new? Do you know about the _locals_?" she pointed at the door.

I shook my head. "They come in here with an idea. They want something only us witches know about. They are only human!" She threw her hands up and then settled them back down.

"What's being done about it?" I asked.

"Nothing. HSC won't do anything about them because they're too hard to track down and there's too many of them."

"I do give them psychic readings though." She smiled, "I could give you one."

She had me put my hands on her unturned palms and she said to be absolutely still and quiet. She closed her eyes and breathed.

"A boy… And he is sitting. He is… breathing deeply and…" She squished her eyes shut and pushed her mouth into a thin line. "A knife."

She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Does it mean anything to you?"

I shook my head, "There's only one boy…"

"Oh, Who?" she implored and leaned forward.

I smiled and hid my eyes, "Oh, just a… ghost."

She pulled back and frowned, "I don't know tons about the rules of a Seer but – isn't that," She lowered her voice. "Illegal?"

"These are special circumstances."

"I'm all for a good love story, I mean, what's he like? How did you meet and – what do you mean special circumstances?"

"Well… you see," I told her almost everything.

. . .

"So you guys are – bound? How romantic!" I smiled.

I didn't think it was romantic. In fact I thought it was terrible because I was becoming increasingly sure that I didn't love Tristen. I didn't like being forced to love him, I haven't ever loved and I wasn't positive that I ever would. You would think I would _enjoy_ being in love but I didn't.

It reminded me of Stockholm syndrome where the fugitive eventually makes the victim love him. It's not common, just like the Soulmate phenomenon. Twenty-seven percent. That's the number of captives that are affected by Stockholm syndrome. In a way, I feel the same as the people that are affected by it.

In a way, I'm trapped and can't get out. And just like victims of Stockholm syndrome I am unwilling. The only difference between me and victims of Stockholm is I realize what's happening to me and can't stop it. Yet.

"So," Sophie interrupted my thoughts. "What about the knife? What does that have to do with anything?"

I shrugged, "No idea."

She glanced at a small silver alarm clock sitting on the desk then stood up quickly, "Mother Earth, look at the time! Listen, here's my number. Give me a call tomorrow; I'm having my annual party. You could come out and meet a few people who live around here. It's mostly just Oregon."

"Okay, I'll give you a call it'll be fun." I smiled. And we both left out the front door. Waving, I started my way toward my parallel parked car a block away.

On the way home I thought about my newfound friend and my not-so-newfound problem, Tristen.

Evil Has a Name

Wednesday, August 19.

I opened my bedroom door to the words, "I have a head ache." Tristen in his jeans and black tee was squinting at my face, his mouth a thin line. I was startled and not sure what to say. He seemed to be waiting for an answer but I took a while to take it all in.

"Here, let me check the medicine cabinet. I'm sure we have some ghost-strength Tylenol," I said sarcastically.

He just continued to squint and keep his mouth in the thin line. Then he scoffed, "I don't think now is the time –"

I cut him off, "Now is the perfect time. I want an apology." The words were out of my mouth before I could think twice.

"I – uh. Sure, I'm sorry." He said it almost as if he was in a hurry, almost half-fast.

"A real apology."

I figured apologies better be either long and thorough or short and heartfelt. And besides, I planned to apologize right back.

"I'm really sorry, Beatrice, for being such a jerk." He sounded sincere. "I'm sorry, too."

77


	5. Chapter 5

Entity

Sunday, August 2.

We debated our predicament with the break-in for a while. She said she left around nine that morning and then stopped by before work to drop off doughnuts at nine thirty. No broken panes.

I had gotten up at ten. I didn't notice the pane broken while I ate breakfast. I was upstairs until around noon, unpacking. When I came down for lunch I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice then. And I was downstairs for the rest of the afternoon. If something would have happened then I would have heard it.

My mom called the police and they promised to come out tomorrow.

The first thing I thought of was the click, the click that happened between ten and noon. The window-breakers time slot when I was upstairs and wouldn't hear a thing. Except for the loud click that probably sent the thief away. Who knows what else they might have been planning to do with that hammer.

The second thing I though of was the fact that Caroline came over right after the thief's window of time. I couldn't bring myself to think that the little old lady had anything to do with the attempted break-in, but she did act very peculiar.

It would be fairly embarrassing to tell my mom we had a – ghost. I have no ideas otherwise to explain the eerie noises that saved me from embarrassment and maybe scared the thief away, tried to warn me. _Coincidence?_ It didn't seem plausible.

Nope. I wouldn't tell my mom about the clicking noises. It seemed as though if I did, _if she believed me_, something would happen and this strange new find would disappear. I, to my own surprise, wanted to meet the thing that potentially saved my life; to thank it.

What about Caroline Hopper who seemed to know my full name despite my _not_ telling her. Were these events linked?

I was pretty freaked, how could someone, something, be so close and me not know? The fact remained that it happened and I was taking some precautions when mom left.

I drifted to sleep thinking disturbing thoughts and dreaming disturbing dreams.

. . .

The scenes flicked by in my brain, Georgia, Oregon, my room, my room back at Calvin's, the green woods behind the house, the gravel driveway, the interior of a plane, an old garage. They flicked by so fast that I could barely tell what the scenes were.

My focus was not entirely on the scenes flicking by though. I was staring at the thing in the center. Well the being, the – entity. I had no way to tell you what the thing was, there's no way to describe it.

He – I just knew that it was a male entity – wasn't looking at me he was pointing behind me, his expression horrified. I could hardly bring myself look away he was so beautiful even with his panic stricken face. I whirled around and saw the dark shadow of someone standing just outside our front door. There was no door it just looked like they were behind the one downstairs.

They were walking slowly toward me something in they're hand that looked suspiciously like a hammer. I whirled back to my entity boy and he wasn't there. I turned back to the man.

The man was lying on the floor, his outline blurred with the diamond like facets of the door. My entity boy was there holding the hammer and smiling at me his smile inviting and friendly…

. . .

Monday, August 3.

I stared at the ceiling for half an hour after I woke up. I just didn't feel like getting up and getting dressed just yet.

Mom was going to be here for the next three days while Molly was here.

What to do, what to do.

Yesterday's events flooded back to me.

"Stupid Caroline Hopper, Stupid Clicking noise, Stupid dream." I grumbled to myself as I got dressed. I carefully locked the door to my room.

I went downstairs and despite my grumbling, met my mom with a smile. This would be a good day, I could just tell.

"Hey, Mom!"

"Hey!"

"You know I met someone yesterday that I never got the chance to mention." I said this matter-of-factly. She looked surprised.

"Oh yea?" she looked at me with a sly smile.

"Who?" She asked.

"This lady named Caroline Hopper. Ring a Bell?" I wasn't expecting her answer.

"Nope, I've never met anyone by the name of Hopper." She looked puzzled, yet intrigued.

I stared at my toast as a little wave of fear washed over me. _How did she know my last name?_

"Are you sure? She lives a little way from here and she knew my last name but I didn't mention it." I said this hopefully.

"I haven't met any of the neighbors." She looked a little scared herself.

"You must have told her and not realized it," she said hurriedly.

"No," I shook my head.

"I can remember everything that I ever said to her and I never said my last name. I thought you knew her. But when I asked her is she knew you she said no." I was still scared, my eyes wide. First the attempted break-in now this!

I was mystified and she was puzzled. We defiantly had a mystery on our hands.

. . .

"So the window was broken when your mom got home but not broken before lunch?" the policeman was asking us multiple questions.

His name was Detective Mathews and he was all cop. He had his blue uniform on from head to toe and I could tell he was proud of it. He had a thick swatch of brown hair on his head that he kept clipped close. His face was clean shaven. He had a nose that took up a whole lot of his face and small brown eyes. His face was thin and his build was as muscular as cops' build will get. He looked my mom's age because he looked older but the grey didn't get into his hair yet.

"Yes, Sir." I answered.

"And the lady, Mrs. Caroline Hopper came after the window was broken?"

"Yes, Sir." I said again.

He seemed to ponder this.

"Hmmm. And she was acting suspicious?"

"Yes, Sir. She knew my full name when I didn't tell her." It sounded silly after I said it.

"Don't you believe this is alarming that the woman knew your name and where you lived when you have never seen her before?" He looked at me than at my mom.

"Yes we do. I think she could have something to do with the break-in." I said this but doubt crept in. She could have just been there at the wrong time.

"Yea, yea. Um, where does this woman live and all the other people in this area?"

I pointed to the place that Bobby lived and the direction Caroline lived. He nodded and thanked us, then took off down the gravel road in his cruiser.

We had explained our whole story the best we could and showed him all the evidence. He had asked us if Molly might have anything to do with it, but of course she couldn't have, she hadn't been here.

We hoped that something good could have come from this. She decided that she needed to complete some errands that were piling up. I was stuck with Molly.

She came out of her room only to get something to eat or go to the bathroom. Now, she has become more comfortable with sitting on our couch. She was watching TV and eating microwave popcorn.

What to do, what to do.

The image of the woods came to mind. I remembered a waterfall that my mom took me out to when I was little. There was a wide sheet of water falling from about fifteen or twenty feet. You could walk behind it and there were logs washed up in the cavern from the winter floods. I remember it very clearly.

I couldn't get it off the brain so I decided to try and find it.

Filling a backpack with snacks and water bottles and told Molly I was leaving, she just nodded. I went out the back door after locking the kitchen door behind me. I looked for the three, familiar, snaking trails and chose the one in the center.

I walked, marveling at the trees and the light streaming through them. I found myself looking up. There were green ferns, squishy green moss, and trees and bushes by the ton. It was so beautiful. Like a giant green kaleidoscope.

I could smell the green moss. It didn't smell bad but it didn't smell good either, like dirt. I breathed in the strange scent. It was nothing like dry Georgia.

I walked along thinking about my dream, completely at ease. Than I felt uneasy, it hit me so suddenly that I stopped on the path. I looked around twirling in a circle. When I had made full circle and I was faced in the direction to head deeper in the forest again I kept walking. I still felt the unease.

I felt the need to stop again and I did. I looked around me again and when I faced the path to head deeper into the woods I saw a figure ahead. I jumped and then hid behind a bush to peer at it.

I couldn't tell what he looked like because he was facing away from me. He never looked away from the direction he was going. This startled me because I always felt the need to look at the green surrounding me or the beautiful sunlight streaming in.

I got up from behind my bush and started a brisk walk toward him, never taking my eyes off him.

"Hey!" I called out I wanted to know how the hell he got on the trail without my noticing. I knew this was my feeling for unease. Had he been watching me from behind a bush? Is that why the multiple times I had spun in a circle I couldn't see him? I had looked very carefully, looking for any sign of color hidden the green.

He was wearing a red quilted jacket despite the heat. This startled me all over again. Red and green are contrasting colors and I would have spotted him through the bushes even from this distance. Plus, he was wearing a jacket and jeans! I was sweating in my tank top and shorts!

"Hey, you! In the red jacket!" I called after him again. I picked up my pace breaking into a steady jog; it was a good thing the trail was well worn but the vines and bushes threatened to cover the trail if not kept up.

"Hey!" I called again but it was useless he just kept walking at a steady pace. I had no idea why I wanted to reach him. I felt like I _needed_ to know who he was;_ needed_ to see his face, to meet him. I needed it as much as I needed the water I was craving to bring out of my backpack.

I was getting out of breath as I picked up my speed even more; I was running now. I should catch up to him any moment. The backpack jumped on my back as I ran I could hear the water sloshing in the bottles. I desperately wanted some but I _had_ to keep running.

I heard the sound of the waterfall ahead. The trail curved and I saw his profile which was disturbingly angry, he was out of sight. Despite all my running he never got any closer to my eyes.

I turned the corner and I couldn't see him but I saw the clearing up ahead with the white-grey river rocks blazing in the sunlight. I broke out of the tree line and looked around desperately for him. He was no where to be seen.

How peculiar that he should just disappear. How peculiar that he should never hear me yelling through the echo of the forest. How peculiar that he should appear on the trail so suddenly. How peculiar that I didn't see him through the bushes even though he wore that red jacket. How peculiar that I never caught up to him even though he was walking so slowly!

I sat on a rock as I pondered this. I chugged the water. I was tired from running. I was angry at him. He was ignoring me. What if –

My thoughts trailed off as I thought of my dream the night before. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and the water bottle slipped out of my hand and began to drain onto the rocks, making them turn dark gray. Hell, I wasn't even paying attention to that. A chill slipped down my spine and a little gasp escaped my lips.

I left the water bottle on the ground and I turned back to the trail that I came out of. I didn't even have a chance to have a look at the beautiful waterfall. I ran through the woods as I slung the backpack back on my back. Hopefully I didn't have to run too far.

The boy in my dreams, my entity boy was the one I had seen in front of me walking for all that time. The beautiful boy in my dreams had been wearing the exact same quilted red coat and blue jeans. The boy was real and he was there. _He was real._


	6. Chapter 6

Questions and Answers

Monday, August 3.

"Are you sure, Detective Mathews?" I inquired.

"Sure as pie." He replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, it's just that why would someone want to do this to us? Why would someone put on a false name? We have nothing extremely valuable we have nothing that they could take! Do you think that the incidents are linked?" I exclaimed with exasperation.

"Maybe a grudge against your mother? You just moved here so it can't be against you. And I'm not sure about them being linked and so far in our investigation there is no evidence to suggest it. All we need is that little piece of evidence." He sounded like this is what his answer was for everything.

"Sure. I will talk with my mom. Thanks for everything Detective." I didn't care that I sounded forlorn.

"Don't mention it. You can mention it to Mrs. Finn but were going to come back out soon to question some more. I don't know why these things are happening to you but you just hold on tight, we'll get it strait in a jiffy." He sounded reassuring.

"All right, buh bye now."

"Bye, Miss." He hung up the receiver and I put mine on the hook. I breathed a sigh and Molly came in.

"This is pretty scary," She said. She stood uncomfortable in the door way.

"I'm scared too, Molly. I want it to end." I looked at her.

"Yea, no offense to you or anything, but I really can't wait to leave." She looked sorry.

"I don't blame ya," I said and I trudged into the living room to sit on the couch.

Detective Mathews just called to tell me that Caroline Hopper didn't exist. He told me that they searched everywhere, even out of state, and they couldn't find her. The cops had searched in the direction I had pointed to where her house was supposed to be and they didn't find anything. This was a very scary piece of information. I really didn't know what to do about all the events that were happening. I wanted to do _something_.

After coming home I had sat in my room for a while just sitting. I knew that I had some kind of a problem with this entity that was following me. I had come to this conclusion after an hour of sitting.

I debated getting one of those Ouijas boards and calling for him, but thought better of it. I didn't even know if he was a ghost. It felt stupid to do something I did when I was little at sleepovers for something so serious.

When I went over to a friends house when I was little we got out the board and called for Bloody Mary. Of course she didn't show up. It felt stupid to do the same thing to call this boy if that's what I could call him.

I couldn't tell one bit if I was dealing with two situations or three. There was the break-in, fake Caroline Hopper and the boy. The boy couldn't have anything to do with the other events but the other events could also be linked.

Just then mom came in the door and I must have looked horrid because she asked what was wrong.

I told her about Caroline and she covered her mouth with wide eyes.

"Don't open the door when I'm gone anymore, all right?"

"I've already thought of that and I'm not gunna." I said.

It was already five so we cooked up some dinner and I was beat from my run in the forest. So I watched some TV until eight and went to bed.

. . .

I was running, running to meet up with the boy in the quilted coat. I was thirsty and dripping with sweat but the boy was so close and if I reached him I would get a drink.

This time I reached the boy and I grabbed his shoulder to spin him around. He smiled at me and I smiled back. I could feel a static in the air. _Pop!_

"I finally reached you." I wasn't thirsty anymore.

"I guess you have." He laughed and his eyes twinkled. His voice only intensified the electricity that I could feel tugging at my hair.

"What's so funny?" I asked ignoring the strange sensation.

"I thought that meeting you would be harder, but it's just so easy that I feel like laughing." And he did laugh. I could have laughed with him it was so nice.

"What do you mean? How would meeting me be hard?" I asked.

He looked at the ground and said, "I don't know, I just haven't been able to." He looked up and shrugged.

I searched his face, drinking it in. He was so beautiful it was hard to look away. What a peculiar dream. Than again, a lot of peculiar things have been happening to me lately.

"Not able?" I asked. I was tired of asking so many questions.

"It's hard to explain. I don't exactly know how it works, I just couldn't."

"How what works?" I asked yet another question.

"I don't know," He admitted.

"Why are you following me?"

"I think I need your help."

"I can't help you much." Finally I didn't have to ask a question.

"I know. I just feel like I should be around you. And I feel like I should warn you." He looked hostile.

"What can you even do for me? I tried to see you in the woods and you kept going." I sure hoped I sounded accusing enough but it was hard because he was just so calming and beautiful.

"I'm sorry, I was angry and you only saw me for part of the time."

I almost asked him what he was mad about but thought better of it.

"Did you make the clicking noise?" I asked.

"Yea, I did, and scared that man away. The one in the black gloves and mask." he looked proud of himself.

"Thank you. I don't know what I could have done without you."

"Don't mention it. Now you know that clicking is me. Don't be afraid." He took a step forward and held out his hand.

. . .

Tuesday, August 4.

I was about to take it when I slipped into consciousness. A light was hitting my face and it had woken me up.

The dream! The boy in my dream! Was there really a boy? Was my mind making this up?

I sat up quickly and whispered, "Are you there?" It felt silly but I listened for something, a clicking. Nothing happened. Ugh, I'm so stupid.

I got dressed and went downstairs. My mom was eating breakfast and she pointed to a chair so I would join her. I ate for a while than she broke the silence.

"I have another surprise for you." She said evenly, smiling.

I let my expression ask a question.

"Come out here," she got up and walked to the front door. When she opened the door outside it sat a red truck with a big blue bow on top the hood.

I stood gaping at it for a moment and I could see my mom out of the corner of my eye waiting for my reaction. I registered that the whole truck was for me and I gave a shriek of delight.

I stumbled a few steps to her and hugged her. "Thank you, Thank you."

"It's all yours," she beamed.

I felt someone watching me from behind like the time in the woods, and I now realized, the time before I had entered my house for the first time. I whirled expecting to see a red coat.

Instead I got Detective Mathews. I had been spoiling for a confrontation and my face wasn't showing the welcoming signs. I changed my expression

"Hello Miss, good to see you. Were you expecting to see someone else?" His handsome features buckled as he frowned.

"No, no. I was just – you too. Come on in." I let him in and he sat down in the armchair. Mom sat on the couch. Molly strode in. I remained standing. We looked at him expectantly.

"Mrs. Finn," he began. "Do you have anyone who might want to harm you?" he asked my mom.

"Well no. why?" She looked puzzled.

"Because, we don't know who committed this crime and there is no leads. We have interviewed the neighbors and looked for Mrs. Hopper. We have nothing. Not a scratch of evidence. I'm sorry to say this case will come to a dead end if we have no new information." He looked tired at that moment and I felt sorry for him.

There was a pause as my mom chewed over this information. "I have no enemies. I only have friends." She finally said.

"Than I'm sorry to say that the investigation will be closed shortly and unless we get more information we won't continue." I liked Detective Mathews for his sincerity and he seemed like he genuinely cared.

"Than we won't waste any more of your time." I said hastily. I wanted him gone so he wouldn't suspect me of anything.

"I'm really sorry. I can't do anything else to help." I believed him. _Leave_, I thought.

"It's all right, thank you." I said and got him out the door.

My mom looked at me apparently ignoring the fact that I just shooed Detective Mathews out the door. "Guess we won't catch em' than. Huh, Triss." She said.

"Guess not," But I had other ideas.

That night I came up with a game plan.

Wednesday, August 5.

I slept dreamless and when I woke up mom was gone on more errands leaving me free to my plan. I locked everything up and started walking toward Bobby Long's house. Phase one.

"Hello, I'm Beatrice." I said with a smile.

A man in his forties or fifties had opened a front door to a trailer in a yard of brown grass that was much too tall. He was tall and he had a receding hairline of graying brown hair. He had brown eyes that might have been friendly at one time and he was wearing overalls. He needed a shave, too.

"Hello." He said it so simply that I gave a little start.

"I'm the new neighbor. I live over there." And I pointed toward my house.

"Okay." I could tell he wasn't a chatty one.

"Can I ask you some questions?" I asked since apparently he wasn't going to let me in.

"What kind?" He asked.

This man was starting to get on my nerves.

"The police already asked me some." I was surprised that he already knew what I was going to ask questions about. He struck me as a man who wasn't educated but wasn't stupid either.

"I know but I have some more for you that could further the investigation." He looked at me like he would slam the door any second. He just stood there so I proceeded.

"Do you remember seeing a short older woman wearing floral clothing about three days ago?" I asked.

He paused for a moment then said, "Yea. Parked on the end of your driveway. Then walked up to your house with somthin' in 'er hands." I was so exited to have some information that I almost giggled.

"What did her car look like?" I asked. He looked at me kind of funny and thought for a moment. It looked painful.

"A van kind, Black one. Said somthin' on the side." He continued.

"What did it say? Was there windows?" I said quickly, eager. What an amazing jump in discovery! If he knew what it said than I would know how to find her!

"Said 'Francine's Supernatural Finds'. No windows." He said. I was so close to finding her. I only needed an address and I would confront her.

"Francine's Supernatural Finds'," I mumbled. I almost thanked him and turned to go but there was still a few more things to discuss.

"Did you ever see a boy in a red quilted jacket?" I asked. This wasn't originally part of the plan but I decided to ask anyway. It couldn't hurt.

I was surprised that the police didn't get this information already. Then it hit me that they didn't ask these particular questions. They were asking Bobby if he had seen anyone breaking into our house. Of course Bobby wouldn't have been able to tell! You can't see out house until you're halfway down our gravel driveway! The police never thought to ask who he saw going down the driveway or parked on the end of it.

Then it hit me that these people never had asked questions about Caroline. They were not linking the two incidents. I still thought they were linked. Hell, the police thought it was just some crazy old lady that had evaded the police records and computers all her life for all I knew.

"I never seen a guy in a red jacket." He said. _Darn_.

"And before any of this ever happened did you ever see a man walking down the street to my house wearing a black mask and gloves?" I asked.

"No," He said and slammed the door in my face.

Poor guy was crazy. I was surrounded by crazy people. I was lucky that I had gotten his information and I turned to go back to my house.

I got in my car and sped away toward the City of Silverton Library.

When I typed Francine's Supernatural Finds on the computer search engine only one site popped up. I clicked and scanned the site.

It seemed to be some sort of fan site but what were they fans of? I searched the website some more and found a little blurb about Francine's. It wasn't very nice and I'm sure it was put there to warn people to avoid this woman. She was really creepy after all.

_Francine's Supernatural Finds: One of the less known supernatural shops. Owner was a weird old lady in a weird old shop. She claims to have seen ghosts. _

_6734 Faraway RD S Silverton, OR. _

_For more places that deal with the supernatural click __**HERE**__._

I almost clicked on the link but thought better of it. 

Apparently someone doesn't like this woman. It didn't diminish my wish to find her. It was evident that her profession, if that's what I could call it, was a – a ghost hunter. I couldn't wrap my head around the word and believe it. None the less, the evidence was in front of my face, I had a ghost.


	7. Chapter 7

Honey, I'm

Dead

BeatriceFinn Productions™

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical

Events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other

Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the

Author's imagination and any resemblance to actual events

Or locales or a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BEATRICEFINN PRODUCTIONS™

_Honey, I'm Dead_ copyright © 2010 by Ashleejane Templin

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

in whole or in part in any form.

BEATRICEFINN PRODUCTIONS™ is a registered trademark.

HONEY, I'M DEAD is a trademark of Beatrice Finn.

Designed by Beatrice Finn

The text of this book was set in Cambria.

Manufactured in the United States of America

The BeatriceFinn productions edition April 2010

Honey, I'm

Dead

_For the ones_

_I love._

Prologue

It didn't look like a letter. From the outside it was just something in the mail, something to open. A bill, a relative sending a kooky card, a dentist's check-up reminder. I didn't even look at the return address or who it was for. I just slipped my finger under the flap at the top of the envelope, struggled with the sticky tape between the flaps and yanked the paper out. It wasn't until I read the first words that I recognized the slightly sloppy writing.

Even as I realize what I've opened I realized I tripped myself up. I made a mistake. I _always_ know how people are feeling just from the look on their faces or their body language. The way a human moves can speak to me like pure untainted English. No person is a closed book.

Maybe I should be a psychologist, that's what people that I associate with say. The few people I associate with.

I can't seem to get my niche in high school. Every school year is the same except, wait, I'm going to be a Junior this time. The cacophony of people on the first day always makes me sick. Jock, Prep, Goth, the gears of my mind are going full speed. Everyone else's minds run all the other faces they spot through their minds, know her, know him, new guy, hate her. I can practically see the thoughts flicker across their faces when their minds process me. Dislike, annoyance, indifference and even hatred.

The things that make me different from these people make them hate me. I'm smart, I use my head. I don't slack like every other 'cool' kid. I wear clothes that I can swim in and not only that but clothes that are old. Vintage. The colors are faded, the edges frayed and worn but I love them. And I have long since stopped caring what others think.

I don't care that they care that I don't 'fit in' with any group. But it's pointless. They separate themselves into groups depending on how they dress and act. Prep; jock; nerd; goth; Emo.

Which do I fit into? None of the above. So I'm an outcast, an outcast who can read every one of these types of people like the newspaper on a Sunday morning.

As I read the letter, sitting on my bed in the empty house I think about these things. For once in my life I didn't see something coming. I realize that, for once in my life, something wasn't what it seemed.


End file.
